


Blood for Blood

by icantwritegood



Series: Blood [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Gun Violence, Oops, Violence, Violent Sex, apart from maybe non-consensual death, but that's as far as the non-con goes, i accidentally wrote a sub tinsley scene, if this was a show id say flashing images, my hand slipped, non-consensual marriage, ricky is a bastard man, the whole gang is back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-11-12 19:49:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: "Walls have ears,Doors have eyes,Trees have voices,Beasts tell lies.Beware the rain,Beware the snow,Beware the man you think you know."





	1. Love and War

 

 

> _Mi tesoro, my son, my dearest Ricky._
> 
> _Before I went, I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you alone, for leaving all this weight on your shoulders. I understand the feeling. When my brother, your uncle, passed, it was all so overwhelming. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was in person, but I couldn't possibly verbalize it with enough meaning. Here it is in a letter, so my apology is forever with you. I'm sorry._
> 
> _I'm sure Holly has said so already, but this is the time for duty, above all. The Goldsworths, the family name, lie with you. It's a heavy burden, I know. I had it. And although this might seem like insanity, it was Holly who helped me through, who kept me going. We didn't always get along - I found she was too cold sometimes, and she frequently thought I was too fiery. But I have to admit, she tends to be right. I know you have a complicated stance with her, but please Ricky - if she is urging you to do something, I would suggest doing it. And if the Mayor agrees with her, then I'd do it immediately._
> 
> _This is where it may get difficult for you, mi tesoro. You have to listen to the people around you, you have to stand back and see things as they really are, not how you want them to be. Be careful of Fitzgerald, of Fear, of Banjo. They'll stay in line, but only if they fear you enough. Yet if they fear you too much, they tend to bite back. And this new one, this detective, be careful, Ricky._
> 
> _I'll never be sorry enough for leaving all of this with you. I wish I could be there to guide you, and to help you, and to hold your hand through it all._
> 
> _You're my son, and I'll always love you. Mi tesoro, my treasure._
> 
> _Mamá. xxx_

Ricky lifted his eyes from the letter, looking out to the inky blackness of the sea. It brushed gently against the pebbles of the alcove, hidden from the town. It was foggy, the world sketched in pencil. The thin paper fluttered in his hand. He folded it back up, carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. The gold wax seal was split right across the L that was stamped on it. He slipped the envelope into his coat pocket. He then opened the other, smaller one. He took out the first ripped photo, the head and shoulders of a smiling man. Ricky stared at it, his teeth gritting. His father stared back, with an identical nose and an identical face. Ricky peered into the envelope; it was all photos of his father. He'd always wanted to know what he looked like, ever since he was a child, but it turned out he looked like a normal man. Ricky had never met him, but he hated him. He hated him with a passion, with a fire that burned in his gut so hot it was painful. He put the envelope in his pocket with the other. The hateful burning in his stomach didn’t lessen. If anything, it was only growing worse as time went past. He heard a shaky breath. He looked over his shoulder at the source, and smiled. Perhaps this would quench the fire a bit. He spoke lightly as he turned around.

“You know, I don’t actually remember much from that night. Probably because of the amount of alcohol in my system.” The pebbles crunched under his feet as he strolled back up the shore, across the small distance between him and the wooden stake in the ground. “But I’m sure you remember everything. You were sober, I think. Were you?”

No response.

“Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter what state you were in.” Ricky buttoned his coat; there was a chill in the air. “I drank too much, I know that. I was young and I was stupid. Stupid to trust anyone. Stupid to trust you. But you taught me a valuable lesson, in the end.”

Again, no response. Ricky smiled at him.

“Not feeling too talkative, hm?” He tapped the gag around the man’s mouth. “I suppose I could take this off and give you a chance to defend yourself. But then again, you didn’t give me a chance to defend myself.”

The man swallowed a few times, the gag tight in his teeth.

“I don’t quite remember what happened. But I remember the feeling. I remember how scared I was.” He stood right in front of the waiter, looking into his eyes, unblinking. “Do you remember how scared I was? I’d say you do. Not a lot of people spark that reaction in me.” He smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d say that made you feel powerful. Do you feel powerful now?”

The waiter tried in futility to speak. He struggled a bit. The ropes were tight around him, around his arms, keeping him tight against the wood of the pole. Ricky’s smile slipped off his face, slowly. The waiter started sweating. It shone on his face.

“I’ve thought a lot about that night. I’ve thought to myself ‘how can I make him feel what I felt?’ And it’s taken me a while. I know. I've been saving this one for a rainy day.” Ricky stood over him, the fury in his eyes making up for the lack of expression on his face. “At first I thought, pain. How would I make you feel the same pain I felt. But it didn’t feel right. I’ve felt pain a lot in my life. So much you wouldn’t even know where to start.” He shrugged, stepping around him. “Then I thought, hate. What could I do to you that would make you hate me as much as I hate you. As much as I despise your fucking existence, as much as it infuriates me to watch you walk around as if you don’t even remember what you tried to do to me.” Ricky suddenly went quiet. “But no. I could do better. And then it hit me.” He had done a full circle, watching the man’s pale face with glittering eyes. “It’s fear. You see, I feel pain a lot. I feel hate almost all the time. But fear… fear is something I don’t feel. And you made me feel it.”

The waiter swallowed around the gag, his eyes wide enough to show the whites all around.

“So here’s what’s going to happen.” Ricky looked at his eyes, right into them, their noses inches apart. “You’re going to stay here. And the tide is going to come in. I know, I know, we all see the tide coming in every day. But I bet you’ve never noticed just how slowly it happens. And it’s going to come up. Up and up and up.” He walked two fingers up the waiter’s chest as he spoke lightly. Then he flicked him on the nose, letting a smile spread onto his face. “And then you’ll die. But it’s okay. You’ll have a lot of time to think about that night. About what you tried to do to me. About your choice. And about the consequence to that choice.” He grabbed hold of his jaw hard enough to hurt, spitting the words into his face. “I’m the consequence. Me. And I want you to remember that when you try to draw your last breath and fill your lungs with water instead. Remember me.”

He didn’t let go for a few long seconds, seeing the tears welling in the man’s eyes. The waiter tried to speak, the words illegible. Ricky smiled widely, finally letting him go. He ignored the muffled cries, growing more desperate the further he got away. He sat into the car. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He lit a cigarette, trying to decide whether or not he felt better. The sadness was still there, brewing behind his ribs. It had been three days. Three days since his happiness had been taken from him, and he couldn't fathom a way to get it back. He'd killed the doctor. He'd killed the waiter. Neither had brought more or less of a rush than the other. He finished his cigarette, watching the waves starting to creep closer. He needed something different, something stronger. He thought of Tinsley for a long while. Then he started the engine and drove home.

* * *

The coffin was a polished black wood. The flowers were white, their leaves and stems a bright green. Her hair was still gold. The townspeople stopped by irregularly, kneeling, saying a prayer, mourning Lucía Goldsworth, mourning their safety. The mood was somber and ominous. An old man sat on the front pew, gnarled hands on his marble-topped cane. A young woman with dark hair framing her pale face sat further down from him. A paunchy police chief stood beside a tall and slim private detective who was day-by-day becoming less private and more detective. The Minister refreshed a few candles. The townsfolk observed the murmuring group from a distance; something different was afoot, something dangerous. 

"The wake officially ends at midnight," said Fitzgerald quietly, as quietly as the murmurs floating around the warm air. "Then there'll be the proper funeral here tomorrow, and a private burial up in the mausoleum."

"Right." Tinsley spared another glance around the peaceful church. "No sign of Ricky, no?"

"Not since her body was laid here. Three days." The Minister waved out the long match, the smoke melting into the air. "I assume he'll arrive tomorrow when the other families have shown."

"The other families. What are they like?"

"Detestable." The Minister descended the red carpeted steps, joining the rest on the marble. "Especially Robert Branson and his son. Aye, brutes the pair of them. And don't get me started on Jeanne and her parents. Despicable. And Laya and her mother and sister. Or half-sister, I suppose. She's a bastard."

Tinsley nodded, trying to remember them from the party. All he could picture were evil eyes  and evil laughs and sharp teeth hidden behind sharp smiles. "Laya is the one who's like Ricky, right?"

"Correct." Fear finally chimed in, hands resting on the marble handle of his cane. "I think we all know what that means, eh? Ricky's father did his rounds alright."

"I know." Tinsley lowered his gaze, thoughtful, his head tilted aside. "I know you want me to stay here to help you, but I'm not willing to do anything until Ricky has stopped mourning.” He didn’t look up. He could feel them watching him. “He was close to his mom, we all know that."

"I'd disagree with you there. I'd say kick the bastard when he's down." Fear nodded righteously. "He'd do the same to us without a second thought."

Tinsley gave him a disapproving look. "I'm all for playing dirty, Fear, believe me. But he's going through a rough time."

Darla finally spoke. "You're starting to sympathize, aren't you."

"Sleeping with the enemy," muttered the Minister.

"I'm not sympathising," said Tinsley defensively. "I'm just not out to make the guy hang himself off the nearest tree."

Darla gave him a long look. "How do you think this is going to end, detective? Ricky won't give up what he believes is his. Not without a hell of a fight."

"And I'll fight him back," said Tinsley, giving her a stern look. "When the time is right."

"Softy," said Fear. He didn't sound too fond of the word.

Tinsley tutted at them, looking away. "I'm going for a smoke. In the blissful company of myself."

He left at that, hands shoved in his coat pockets as he strode down the aisle. It was a warm night, the air was heavy. The smell of incense was just as strong outside the church doors as it was inside. The lights were low in all the windows, attempting to keep the night at bay. Tinsley look at the Boardwalk curving towards the end of the bay, lampposts glowing softly. He looked at the manor on the hillside, pausing in lighting his cigarette. He took his thumb off the lighter, letting the flame die.

One side of the manor was flickering slightly, like someone was waving a torch back and forth. For a moment, he was panicked, descending the few steps down to the street. However, it didn't seem that it was the manor that was burning. Tinsley stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing back at the church. People were still coming and going into the candlelight. Some of them stopped to whisper. _We're glad you're still here, detective. You'll make a change._ He just smiled weakly, looking back at the manor. He buttoned his coat and headed to his car.

The fire was audible from outside the gates, crackling as it chewed on whatever was in its flames. Tinsley parked the car, getting out and crossing the gardens to the front door. He knocked. The Mayor answered. They went through the usual routine of taking coat and hat and trading small smiles that said _maybe, in a different life, we could've been friends_. Tinsley pulled his tie loose, risking the question.

“How’s he been?”

The Mayor seemed to really think this over, his brows knitted. “No one saw him the first day, sir. Yesterday he drank his meals. Today is the first day he’s left the manor since Ms Goldsworth passed.”

Tinsley inclined his head, frowning. “Where’d he go?”

“This morning he went hunting, sir.”

“Hunting?” Tinsley pulled a face at this. “I can’t picture him being happy standing around in a field for hours.”

“That’s not how he hunts, sir. He and his mother used to go out when he was younger.” The Mayor nodded to himself, reassured that his memory was correct. “Yes. Horseback.”

Tinsley threw a glance at the hall that led to the kitchens and through them to the gardens. It was all very dark indeed. Grandfather Goldsworth still sat unmoved in his gilt frame. He didn’t look too pleased with the entire situation. “Right.”

“He’s only been in for an hour or so. He said he went for a walk on the beach.”

Tinsley’s eyebrow quirked at this. “Hm. Alright.”

He moved on towards the back gardens, slowing as he saw Fran hopping down the stairs, tucking her shirt into her high black trousers. She flashed him a bright smile.

"Hello, detective."

"Evening." He rubbed at his nose, nodding towards the back of the manor. "He hasn't turned to pyromancy as a coping mechanism, has he?"

"No. Not yet." She grinned, stopping beside him. "You want coffee or anything before you try and figure him out?"

"I'm good. I think I should just get it over with."

She pursed her lips, continuing on towards the door. "I wonder why you even try."

He wondered this too as he found his way out into the gardens. The crackling was louder, much louder, and he could feel heat coming off the source in waves. He poked his head around the side of the manor wall, squinting against the fierce flames that made up a hefty bonfire on the grass. There was another whoosh, a bang, a fizzle of sparks rising into the air as Ricky threw more boat oil onto the flames. He was silhouetted against them, arms by his sides, back to Tinsley. He raised his hands, running them through his dark hair, pushing it back off his face.

"Ricky." Tinsley said the name loudly to be heard over the fire. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning."

"Cleaning?" Tinsley crouched down beside the small bundle of books and photos. He assumed it hadn't been so small twenty minute ago. He straightened up, tilting open the photo album in his hands. It was a wedding album. Lucy's. "Oh. I see."

He stared at Ricky's father, at the sharp jaw, the straight nose, the identical profile. Then the album was ripped from his hands and tossed into the fire. The flames chewed it up hungrily. The fire danced in Ricky's eyes, his lips parted in a faint smile.

"Ricky, no, you can't just burn all this!" Tinsley could see a large photo frame crumbling to ash in the white-hot embers. "They're valuable! They're goddamn heirlooms!"

"You can go if you're just going to whine." Ricky dusted his hands off, not looking away from the fire. Not once. "This is therapeutic for me. You should be happy I've found something that makes me feel so- so good." He finally looked at him, grinning. "Have you ever made love under the stars, Tinsley?"

"Can't say I have," said Tinsley dryly.

Ricky looked him over, sidelong. Then he looked back at the fire. "It almost feels as good as this."

Tinsley looked at the flames too. "Perhaps you should try arts and crafts."

Ricky just grinned at this. He picked up the last few photos, his lowered gaze watching them pensively. His father stared back. Ricky chucked them into the fire with all the others. The sparks whooshed into the sky like thousands of stars returning home.

"Mayor?"

The butler appeared, despite the fact Ricky had hardly raised his voice. "Yes, sir?"

"Wine." Ricky smiled, still looking at the fire, although it seemed he was watching something else entirely. "Wine would be nice."

Tinsley silently agreed to stay. He followed Ricky to the small outdoor table, over which was an iron trellis holding up a canopy of ivy. It was the first time he’d properly seen the courtyard; it was large and cobbled, and a stables stood across the way. He couldn’t see if it was occupied. He assumed it probably was. By the time he sat the two wine glasses were set down and his was in the middle of being poured.

"Thanks."

The Mayor just nodded as he filled Ricky's. "Sir."

He left just as promptly as he appeared. Tinsley crossed his legs, sitting back in the chair, watching the man go back into the house. "What's his name?"

Ricky raised his eyebrows, gaze lowered as he lit his cigarette. "Hm?"

"What's his name? His real name."

Ricky put his case of cigarettes back in his pocket as he relaxed back, exhaling the smoke into the night air. "I never cared to find out."

Tinsley gave him a disapproving look. "Well why is he called the Mayor?"

"Some tradition thing." Ricky shrugged, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt. His skin was smooth in the firelight. "Apparently the first butler for my family _was_ the town's mayor. It just stuck around. A century-old joke."

"Hilarious." Tinsley took a mouthful of wine; it was rich and fruity and pleasantly warm. "What are the other families like?"

"You've met them."

"I've seen them."

"And what did you deduct from your seeing of them."

Tinsley flicked his own lighter on and off, watching the flame spark to life for seconds at a time. "Noble savages."

Ricky smiled at him in amusement. "Like me?"

"No. You lack the, uh, nobility aspect."

"Hm. You're lucky I'm in a good mood." Ricky ran the back of his fingers along his jaw, letting them come to a rest under his chin, propping his head up. "My one advantage is that they hate each other almost as much as they hate me. Almost."

"Advantage? Advantage regarding what?"

Ricky still didn't look at him. He was deep in thought. This was a frightening concept. "They're going to try and take it from me."

"Take what from you."

"All of it. Everything. The town, the manor, the business, the power and influence. They're going to think that I'll be weak." A hint of a smile. "They're going to have to pry it all from my cold dead hands. And I'll take as many of them with me as I can."

Tinsley frowned. "They're not going to kill you, Ricky."

"They'll try. I'm all that's left of the Goldsworths." He took another drag on his cigarette, his gaze distant. "Without me, this entire town is for the taking. And a few of the inland families would quite literally kill to have direct access to a bay."

"Ah. I see." Tinsley looked away; the end of the Goldsworths wasn’t something that he personally would mourn. "...I haven’t seen you down at the church."

"No. You haven’t.”

"And how have you been coping."

Ricky lowered his gaze. His lashes cast sharp shadows below his eyes. "Alright."

"Just alright?"

"I miss her. Of course I miss her." Ricky swallowed hard, his jaw set. "But I'm not going to let myself fall apart. She always insisted that I was a Goldsworth, even when everyone else spited her for it. So I'm not going to let anyone take it away from me."

Tinsley watched him for a long moment. The crackling fire filled the silence. Then he said: "That's the only thing you've ever said that I truly respected."

Ricky smiled dryly, one side of his mouth curving. He turned to face the detective more directly, resting an elbow on the wrought iron table. "Why are you still here."

Tinsley's brows came together in a slight frown. "I- You didn't ask me to leave."

"Not in the manor. In the town." Ricky gestured towards the manor and the town's lights that lay hidden behind it. "I thought you'd leave once you found out who killed the chauffeur. And the waitress. Lovely couple."

Tinsley didn't smile. "Mm. Well I remember a long while ago you had me abandon my other cases. The woman who hired me is dead now, but did leave behind a large amount of cash which I procured for myself, seeing as I went through a hell of a lot of trouble to try and figure the whole thing out. So now I don't have much else to do but let myself get entangled in this mess of a town."

"So you're staying."

"For a time."

"And what brought that decision about?"

Tinsley looked at him, right into those smouldering black eyes, and lied. "A pretty face."

Ricky grinned, resting his chin on his hand. "You're cute."

"I'm daft."

"A perfect combination." Ricky circled the table to him, taking the glass of wine from his hand and setting it aside. "Cute and daft and skilled under the sheets."

Tinsley kept his heavy gaze on Ricky's mouth as the man straddled him in his chair. He ran his hands up Ricky's thighs, up his back, tracing back down his waist to hold his hips, pulling him more firmly up on him. He moved forwards to meet him in a deep kiss, Ricky's hands brushing up his neck to cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. Ricky mumbled the words against his mouth.

"Holly thinks you're bad for me."

"Does she." Tinsley raised an eyebrow. "I think she has our dynamic just a bit back-to-front."

Ricky kissed him again, slowly, smiling against his lips. "You think I'm bad for you?"

"Mm." Tinsley slipped a hand around the back of the man's neck, drawing him harder against him. "The worst."

Ricky smiled, leaning in and pressing his lips to Tinsley’s again. They took a while to separate, but when they separated it was sudden. Holly tutted from the doorway to the kitchen. She held her coat over one arm, a small handbag in the other.

“I thought we agreed not tonight, Ricky,” she said, letting the Mayor take her coat and bag. “The funeral is tomorrow.”

Ricky rolled his eyes, staying exactly where he was. “I didn’t invite him up. He just came up.”

“Well that’s even worse.”

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” said Tinsley moodily, sitting a bit more upright, ushering at Ricky to stand up.

“You’ll both have to be careful,” she said coolly. “The families will be arriving tonight. They’re staying down in the town. They’re to leave by Friday.”

“Two nights,” muttered Ricky, folding his arms across his chest. “I can barely take them for five minutes.”

“Hence the reason they’re down in the town,” said Holly with finality. She came further into the gardens, pushing her wire glasses further up along her nose with a pale finger. “Your mother used to have them stay here. Remember?”

Ricky muttered his reply. “I remember.”

The pause stretched on into silence, the only sound the crackling fire a few metres away. Tinsley took the quiet as his cue to leave, giving Ricky a sidelong look before brushing past Holly and through the dark halls. He heard her following, her sensible heels click-click-clicking. The sound had him on edge, his shoulders tense. He took his coat and hat from the Mayor, pretending that he didn’t even notice Holly lingering beside him. She gave him a long, level look.

“Why did you come up here.”

“To see how he was doing,” said Tinsley just as coolly, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. He pulled the belt tight around his narrow waist. “Am I not allowed do that?”

She ignored the jibe, as she so frequently did with this man. “I hear you and the three puppets have been getting quite close over the past few days. I hope you’re not attempting to cut any strings.”

Tinsley arched an eyebrow. “They’re called friends, Ms Horsley. I understand if you’re not familiar.”

“I had a friend, detective. But she’s gone now.” Holly looked aside, her grey gaze lowered. “She’s gone to everyone else, but not to me. And I have a few promises yet to fulfil before I join her.”

“And what promises are those.”

“I wouldn’t be interested in disclosing them to you.” She pushed her glasses up along her nose, giving him a contemptuous once-over. “I just want to make sure that your new friends don’t forget their places.”

Tinsley let a smile slip into place, rolling a cigarette in his fingers. “I get the impression that you view me as a bit of a threat, Ms Horsley.”

“And I get the impression that you’re proud of that.”

“A little.” He looked down his nose at her, an eyebrow raised. “It must be difficult for you.”

“Having someone be a threat?”

“Mm.”

“Oh, Detective Tinsley.” She pressed her lips together in a pitiful smile. Her eyes stayed serious. “You’ve seen the graveyard, haven’t you?”

She gave him a minute to reply. When he didn’t, she just gave him a half-nod, then turned away back into the manor. She went through to the dining room, her makeshift office. She sat, and lit a cigarette, and flipped open the newspaper on the table, but she didn’t read it. Her mind was racing, a bit faster than it usually would. She knew what those three buffoons were up to; they were in their places only because they were useless without leadership. She had just never expected to have a contender for this leadership, and Tinsley didn’t seem to be interested in backing down soon. But she’d killed a union in its crib many times before. That was the best time to kill a union, after all; before it had even taken fruit. So she closed over the newspaper and opened her accounts, and started a grisly brainstorm. The Mayor entered silently, just in case she required ink, or refreshment. He knew not to speak; she needed silence, complete silence, for her work. After a few minutes of quiet but for pen scratching paper, she spoke.

“All is fair in love and war, Mayor,” she said distractedly, voicing her thoughts aloud. “For what is love but war in disguise.”


	2. Homophily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homophily - the tendency of individuals to associate and bond with similar others, as in the proverb "birds of a feather flock together".

The world was black.

Ricky sat in silence. He was at a table. He knew he was. He could see the end at which he was sitting, and nothing else. Nothing else in the world. He looked down at his plate. It was empty. He didn’t care. He wasn’t hungry for food.

Before he even finished this thought, the light began to spread over the table, slowly, a spotlight. There were seats either side. A man sat to his left, dressed in grandiose attire, with a grand black coat and grand black waistcoat and his moustachio was the grandest and blackest of all. That and his eyes. Ricky’s eyes.

“You’re not eating,” said his grandfather. His voice was dusty. “Are you not hungry?”

“Not for food,” said Ricky. He sounded hollow. He looked at the man to his right. “I don’t know you.”

The man lifted his eyes. They were white among the black shadows across his face. “You know me.”

Ricky reached over, taking a handful of the shadows and drawing them away like a veil. It was his father. For a long while he sat, holding the shadows in his fist. His father stared back. Blood dripped black from his maw. Ricky’s breaths quickened with the surge of hate in his chest. 

“You know me well,” said his father, in a voice too loud, too quiet. “You are me.”

“He’s not you,” said his grandfather with a narrowing of his eyes. “He’s me.”

“I’m not you,” said Ricky. He felt like he was speaking to himself. There was no one listening. There was just his grandfather, his father, and the darkness. “I’m me.”

“Ricky.”

He glanced up and sideways at Holly’s voice. She was dressed neatly, in a neat black suit and white shirt. She had a silver tray in hand, covered. She laid it down in front of him. He stared at it, and the reflections were distorted, distorted in impossible ways. His grandfather was nothing but bone, bone and dust in his suit and hat. Behind him was the pale face of the Mayor. His father was charred beyond recognition. He looked at his own reflection. He was old. His hair was salt and peppered and his beard was untrimmed and his eyes had a tiredness in them that he wouldn’t have thought possible. He looked up at the sudden flare of light; more of the table was visible now. He could see so many figures, so many, engulfed in flames that they didn’t seem to notice as they chatted and laughed and drank. He could hear his grandfather laughing delightedly. Of course he would. Of course he would. He continued laughing even as the Mayor took his skull from his skeleton and held it away.

“I’m dreaming,” said Ricky suddenly, grabbing onto the edge of the table. “I’m dreaming. This isn’t real.”

“Good spot, eh.” Fear grinned nastily at him. It was barely visible through the flames he sat in. “You’re a smart one.”

“Have you ever considered simply being silent?” said the Minister, swilling his sherry around the small glass. The fire was chewing him up too.

Banjo didn’t join in. He just laughed and guffawed and chugged his beer. Ricky looked further down the table. The families. He could see them. He could hear them, sneering and laughing at him. He got to his feet so suddenly his chair toppled over.

“Open it,” said Holly, a hand on his shoulder. She pointed at the silver tray. “It’s for you.”

Ricky gave her an impatient glower. Then he yanked the silver lid off. “I don’t know what that is. It’s nothing.” He ran a finger through the pale liquid. It was shiny, greasy. “I don’t know. I don’t-”

His grandfather’s skeletal hand fell onto the tray, splashing the liquid about. His skull was cackling and cackling and it wouldn’t stop, even as the Mayor placed it on the table and began to shatter it with the nearest piece of cutlery. His father was lighting a cigarette, even as it was soaking through with the blood in his mouth. Ricky stumbled away, away from the chaos. He felt hands take hold of him, gripping his shoulders tight. Familiar hands.

“Tinsley?”

He looked over his shoulder, letting out a yell. The man’s throat was bare inches away, and it was gashed, cut to the bone. Tinsley looked down at him, and he looked confused, his brows drawn together. He raised a hand to his throat, looking at the blood on it, so bright and red it hurt to even look at it. His breaths began to come faster, wet, blood dripping from his lips. Ricky’s eyes widened in alarm, watching as the detective stumbled aside, falling to his knees, a forest floor spreading around him. The leaves sprouted from the shadows.

“I- I don’t-” Ricky spun; the table was entirely alight, but no one seemed to notice, no one seemed to care. “I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming.”

His father got to his feet, standing right in front of him, unblinking, unyielding. “Just you try to wake up.”

* * *

It was a bright and sunny day. The shadows were crisp and clear against the stone outside the church. Ricky hated it. He hated how bright it all was, how the birds chirped and sang and how the sea was a beautiful blue and how the flowers bloomed happily all around him. He stood on a bunch of daisies, grinding them under the heel of his shoe until they were a twisted mess of ripped stems and torn petals. On a day like this, they should be dead. Everything should be dead apart from the one person who was dead. He lifted his gaze to the town below, to the stone church in the middle of the street. He could already see the people milling around like ants. The Mayor spoke again.

"Sir, we should leave. We're already late."

He took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out through his mouth. "Fine. Fine. We'll go."

He got into the car, into the back seat. He could see himself in the rear view mirror, dark circles under his eyes, but all tidy and neat like Holly had wanted. He hadn't minded. She was good. She was stability among all this chaos. She'd had his clothes and his breakfast all ready. She'd come in and opened the curtains and coaxed him out from under the covers. She'd gone down ahead to keep everyone distracted because he was late. She'd take care of all of it, she'd said. As long as he just kept it together for the next few hours. He could do it. He could. He didn't speak a word for the entire drive.

The car ground to a halt, wheels cracking the gravel. The bell tolled, reverberating in his head. Ricky let out a breath through gritted teeth, feeling sick to his stomach. He refused to look out the window, at the piranhas, the hyenas, their sly eyes and sly smiles. He felt like a little boy again; afraid, insecure. Those people out there were dying to rip him apart. He closed his eyes, letting his head hang forwards. He straightened up almost instantly as he heard the car door click, swinging open a second later. From now on, there would be no time for weakness. He didn’t get out. He sat, and he stared ahead, and he cursed all of them out there. Then he stepped out of the car.

He smoothed down his coat, keeping his eyes on the stone steps ahead. A path had been carved for him, voluntarily or involuntarily. He could see them waiting either side, greedy crows, ready to squawk their sympathies. He hated them. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. His feet hit the pavement, striding confidently. He hoped his face matched. He went up the steps, rubbed his gloved fingers against each other, hands by his sides. The Mayor’s steady footsteps echoed his. He let his gaze drift over the faces until they found his. Tinsley looked back, and there was no simpering smile, no insincere pout, no badly-disguised smirk like there was on all the other faces. There was just Tinsley, as level-headed and quiet-eyed as always. Ricky didn't look away from him as he passed by, his own face guarded, their gazes scraping off each other sharp enough to cast sparks. They were the only two people in the world. Then the Minister spoke.

“Mr Goldsworth, may I offer my deepest sympathies.”

Ricky looked him over, face stone cold. “You may.”

A skipped beat. “The mourners are waiting.”

“They can keep waiting.” Ricky pulled off his gloves a finger at a time, letting the warm air at his hands. “I want a moment alone.”

The priest blinked, turning his head to follow Ricky with his little eyes. “Mr Goldsworth, these people have come from near and very, very far. They’ve been waiting-”

“They can keep waiting,” came Ricky’s voice, sharp enough to cut him in half.

He went through the church doors, their red stained glass bright and bloody. The Mayor followed, shutting them behind him. The smell of incense mixed into the air, joining the tolling bell. His footsteps echoed against the marble as he went up the center of the aisle, towards her open coffin, towards the grandness of the altar, the gold and the glamour and the coldness of it all. Holly was there already. She stood beside the coffin in her long grey coat, hands clasped in front of her, head ducked. She didn’t look up, even as Ricky joined her. He looked at his mother’s face. They’d done the makeup wrong. It made her look too soft.

“She loved you more than anyone in this world, Ricky.” Her voice was quiet, just in case there were listeners. She swallowed before continuing. “More than anything.”

He let his hands rest on the edge of the coffin, his jaw clenched. “I know.”

“People criticized her day and night for keeping a bastard child,” said Holly, distant, as if she was talking to herself. “But you’re more her than you could even know.”

He didn’t respond. He swallowed hard.

“She built an empire, Ricky.” She finally looked at him with sad gray eyes. “It’s yours now. All of it.”

“It’s ours.”

She blinked. “Ours?”

He didn’t look away from Lucy, his eyes traveling over her face. “I’ll need help. I know I will. I need you to stay.”

“I- I’d be honored, Ricky.”

“Good.” He bit his lip, staying silent for a moment. “They’re going to try and take it away from me. All of them. Out there.”

“I know.” She placed a hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Solidarity is more important than anything else right now, Ricky. Solidarity and support. You cannot show weakness, do you understand?”

He nodded, his breaths beginning to tremble. “What happens if I do?”

Horsley sighed, turning her gaze from Ricky to Lucy. “Your mother struggled too, Ricky. Not that anyone knew. But she died a long time ago. She died, and she was born again.” Horsley gave his hand another squeeze, harder this time. “It’s your turn, Ricky. Kill your old self. Become the man you need to be. Become the man we need you to be.”

He turned his head, his eyes watery. He couldn’t blink, lest he shed a tear. “I don’t know how.”

Horsley looked back firmly. “The first step is the most painful, Ricky. But it will get easier after.”

He nodded again, lips pressed together in a line. “What’s the first step?”

“No more personal indulgences, Ricky.” She spoke softly, her eyes searching his face for even a flicker of resistance. She watched him close his eyes, watched the tears make their way down his cheeks, drip off his jaw. “No more. From now on, duty is everything. So you can keep this empire for your own children.”

His eyes opened. “…My own children?”

“Your own children,” she repeated firmly. “You’re almost thirty. You should take a wife, and have a child.”

He stared at her, eyes round and helpless. “But I don’t- I can’t-”

“I know, Ricky. I know.” She kept her hand on his; the look on his face was painful. “But this is where duty takes precedence. You need a wife. A supporting woman who will be your rock.”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t marry a woman. I can’t- I can’t have a child with a woman.”

“You can’t have one with a man either. And most definitely not the man you’re currently involved with.” Horsley smiled sadly, a small one. “Duty comes before everything now, Ricky. You need to stop what you’ve been doing, and take the wheel. You can’t drive a car with one hand.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Get rid of Tinsley. And you can start that process now.”

Ricky lowered his gaze, swallowing. "I don't think I want to get rid of him."

Holly watched his face closely. "You like him."

"I think so."

She pushed her tongue into her cheek, turning her head away. Then she said: "Tell me three things you know about him."

Ricky's brows drew together. "What?"

"What's his favourite colour? What's his father's name? What street did he grow up on?"

Ricky stared at her with big eyes. "I don't know."

"What's his favourite book? His favourite author? His favourite food or drink?"

"I- I suppose I don't know."

"I don't think this is the time or the place, ma'am," said the Mayor coolly, leveling his gaze at her. 

She looked right back. "I decide that."

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to escort you outside," said the Mayor, still cool and calm. "You're upsetting him."

She raised her eyebrows at this. "You don't have the right to escort me anywhere, I think."

"My job is to serve the Goldsworths," he said, unblinking. "Not you. So if Mr Goldsworth wishes to be alone, then he will be alone."

She stared at him as if he was a dog who'd suddenly started talking. She looked at Ricky. He wasn't looking anywhere but at his mother. His face was stiff, his eyes dead to the world. She looked back at the Mayor, who was still watching her, impassive. She was suddenly reminded of how he appeared to everyone outside the family. She didn't appreciate this a single bit. She went to leave, pausing beside him to mutter a threatening sentence.

"If only you'd served every Goldsworth as well as you serve this one, James."

He turned his head to look down his nose at her, but she'd already moved on. She reached the doors and spoke some words to the Minister outside. The doors opened, and the light came in, and the people came in with it. The Mayor stuck by Ricky the entire time, close but not too close, and when Tinsley ventured over he gave them space. He glanced at Holly where she was talking quietly with the other families. She glanced back over her wire-framed glasses. It was hard to tell whether or not she was irritated with him. They had rarely fought in their years of service together, and the few times they did it was a silent storm of an event. More often than not he felt like he was the ship and she was the sea; he just had to stay afloat until she calmed.

* * *

The crowd had gathered outside on the steps. Tinsley lit a cigarette, staying away from the families. He recognized a few faces, a few sly eyes from the party. Ricky was off in the crowd somewhere, attempting to fend them off. The Mayor's head was visible above the rest; Tinsley used him as a marker for Ricky's location. Other than that he kept to himself, or at least he tried. He was finding it awfully difficult.

“Oh, detective!” A woman waved a clean gloved hand at him, her other hand holding her purse down at her waist. Her dark hair bounced as she did. “Detective! Come here!”

Tinsley let his head swing away to throw his eyes at the sky before beginning to move towards her. He slowed beside her, taking a moment before looking her in the eye. “Hello.”

“Good afternoon,” she gushed, extending a hand to be shaken. He shook it. She introduced herself as Jeanne. “Oh, you’re a big fellow, aren’t you?”

“No one has ever said that to me before.”

Her face stiffened for a moment before she threw her head back and laughed. “You’re just  _so_ funny. Delightfully!”

He returned the smile, though not as genuinely. He recognized her, with her glass eyes and porcelain skin, yet she didn't exactly exude fragility. She reached up to pick a piece of fluff from his tie, letting it float to the stone steps. She smiled so sweetly, like a doll.

“You must be a very kind man, detective.”

Tinsley shrugged a tad. “Sometimes.”

“Not many people would bother sticking it out with a boy like him,” she said, nodding her head towards Ricky as she pulled a face. “You can’t get much in return, can you?”

Tinsley kept his gaze leveled at her. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, please. We all know.” She leaned in as if to trade whispers with a best friend. “And I honestly can’t blame you. He’s truly beautiful, isn’t he? But he’s rotten on the inside, I’ll tell you that.”

Tinsley kept his gaze flat. “Mm.”

“But enough about him. Where did  _you_ come from?”

“Chicago.”

“And what brought you out to this seaside haven, hm?”

He shrugged, a hand in his pocket, the other bringing the cigarette to his mouth. “Destiny. Fate. Misfortune.”

“Oh you’re  _so_ funny,” she gushed, resting a hand on his chest. “You’re just a big gentle giant, aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

Tinsley looked over her head, an eyebrow arched in disinterest as he scanned the crowd. He could see the Minister occupied with the a large white-haired man, all pious and pompous, adapting to survive. He flashed his gold cross around his neck every few seconds. He remembered when the Minister used to do likewise to him. Banjo stood beside him, twisting his hat in his hands, pausing every second minute to wipe at his face with his handkerchief. He looked nervous. Tinsley gave him a reassuring smile. The man smiled back. 

* * *

Jeanne laughed again, throwing her head back. Normally, this would have infuriated Ricky anyway. But firstly, this was a funeral. His mother’s funeral. And secondly, she was talking to Tinsley. Ricky couldn’t even hear what Fran was saying to him. He had eyes for only them, and his vision was swiftly growing red.

“I’ll be right back.”

He wove through the people towards them, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. When he did join them, they went quiet, and Jeanne looked back at the heated glare on the shorter man’s face.

“Oh, Ricky. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-” She placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, giving him a less-than-sympathetic squeeze. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your mom was… a formidable woman. You’ll have some shoes to fill, hm?”

He didn’t look away from her doll eyes. “I want you to leave.”

A pause. “What? I-”

“I want you to leave my presence,” he said in a forcefully level voice. “And I want you to leave this church. And I want you to go up to the manor and tell the cook that I want the meal cut to one course and one course only because I can’t goddamn stand the sight of any of you for much longer. Did you get that?”

Her reply began in disbelief. “You want me to-”

“Did you get that?” he snarled. “Yes or no.”

She stared at him. Then she cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I got it.”

“Then why are you still here.”

She gave Tinsley a short nod before leaving, hurrying down the steps, her dark curls bouncing. Tinsley rolled his eyes, turning his head away. He re-lit the cigarette he’d been rolling around his fingers. He could see Ricky out of the corner of his eye, he could feel the glare burning into him.

“What.”

“You seem quite taken with her.”

“Oh, yes, I sure was. I just love being talked at.”

Ricky’s fists clenched in his pockets. “Don’t piss me off today, Tinsley. Today of all days.”

Tinsley looked around at the shaking voice, seeing the hard set of the man’s jaw. He spoke quietly. “You’re barely holding it together, aren’t you.”

“I want all these people gone. All of them. I can’t stand another snide comment or laugh or- or-”

“Ricky.” He took a soft hold of his arm, subtle, away from prying eyes. “If you feel like you can’t take it, then tell me.”

“I can’t,” whispered Ricky, his shoulders hunched, feeling as if the entire crowd was crushing in against him. “I can’t take it. Not now. Not- Not-”

Tinsley brought him down the steps, still holding his arm, above his elbow. It felt like he was holding a rock; the guy was tense all over. He flicked his cigarette aside as they went down the road, Tinsley leading them through one of the cobbled alleys that led to the Boardwalk. Ricky barely made it to the end. He stumbled onto the wood of the Boardwalk, dropping to his hands and knees, shoulders rising and falling with each hard breath. He curled his fingers through his hair, staying still for a long while. Tinsley waited patiently beside him. Then Ricky lurched to his feet, falling against the wooden railing and vomiting into the sea below. Tinsley pulled a face at the sounds.

“No, no, don’t wipe your mouth with that,” said Tinsley, crossing to him to take his gloved hand from his mouth. He took a handkerchief from his coat pocket, passing it to him. “Here. And-”

He paused as Ricky retched again, looking away. It was then he saw the face peering around the edge of a building a few feet away. It disappeared the second his eyes landed on it.

“Son of a-”

He took off after the eavesdropper, catching her at the end of the alley. It was just one of the maids from the manor, her eyes wide and face pale.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure if he was oka-”

“Don’t tell anyone what you just saw,” said Tinsley, low and sharp. “None of them out there. Not a word. Understand?”

She nodded with urgency. “Of course.”

He let her go. For a long while he stood where he was, listening to the low chatter in the breeze, the swelling sea, the beating of his own heart. Then he went back to the Boardwalk. Ricky sat against the wooden rails, the handkerchief pressed to his mouth. His eyes were watery. He didn’t look up as Tinsley got closer.

“Are you okay?”

Ricky didn’t respond for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, taking the handkerchief from his mouth. “Yes.”

Tinsley crouched down beside him, elbows on his knees. He gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze, not too hard. “You ready to go back out?”

Ricky wiped at his mouth again, sniffing. "No. But I suppose I should anyway."

"I think you should too."

After a moment’s silence, Ricky nodded. He glanced up at the offered hand. He looked past it at Tinsley’s calm face. Then he slipped his hand into Tinsley’s and let himself be pulled to his feet. They didn’t let go of each other’s hand for a few seconds longer than necessary. Ricky cleared his throat, looking out towards the sea. The two gambling ships were shut for the duration of the mourning. It was strange seeing them with their lights off and their flags down. He chewed on his lip.

"I want you there. Tonight. At the dinner."

Tinsley shook his head, hands on his hips. "I can't, Ricky. Holly-"

"I don't care what she said," replied Ricky with sharp determination. "She doesn't know as much as she thinks she knows. She doesn't know that if you hadn't come to me the night my mom passed, I probably would've thrown myself from the balcony."

"Ricky-"

"She doesn't  _know_." He took hold of the taller man's lapels, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Please come. I just- I need someone there."

"You have Holly. You have the Mayor."

"Holly doesn't care about me. She cares about the Goldsworth name not dwindling down to a stop. And the Mayor is a butler at the end of the day. I'm ridiculed enough already as it is." He rested his forehead against Tinsley's chest, eyes closed. "Please. Just this once. It won't ever happen again."

Tinsley drew him in closer, arms around him, a hand on the back of his head. “If you feel like you’d be better off with me there, then I’ll be there. Simple as.”

"I do." He rested his head against his chest, eyes closed. "I do."

"My manners aren't the most refined," said Tinsley with a wry smile, looking down at him as the man stepped back a bit. "Just a warning."

"Good," said Ricky, lips pressed together in a small smile. He looked a bit embarrassed, ashamed at having been so open. "I'll need something to make me laugh anyway."

"Well I'll try my best then." Tinsley gave him a gentle chuck under the chin. "You're doing good, Ricky. Considering the situation."

"The situation is only starting."

Ricky began moving back towards the church, pulled off his gloves and pushing them into his pockets. He could see Tinsley out of the corner of his eye, sticking beside him, tall and gentle with his hands loosely clasped behind his back. His voice was as gentle and loose as his stance.

"What's next on the schedule then, hm?"

"The burial." Ricky swallowed hard, his fists clenching in his pockets. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to do anything. He just wanted to be in his bed and hiding under the covers like a child. "Then the families arrive. Then the damn dinner."

"And what time does the damn dinner begin?"

"Seven. On the dot."

Tinsley eyed the crowd on the church steps as they walked towards them; he could see so many eyes on them, watching like so many cameras. He inclined his head in a manner casual to the far eye.

"I'll be there."

Ricky nodded. "Okay."

* * *

It was all going too quick. The burial had been done and dusted in what felt like seconds. The mausoleum had been as damp as dusty as it was in his dreams. His grandfather's tomb sat near the back, in the clinging shadows. Ricky hadn't been able to look at it. He felt strange down there, as strange as if he wasn't a Goldsworth. And he wasn't. He wasn't truly. He'd sprinkled the first handful of dirt into the grave and it had bounced off the coffin and the loneliness had set in just like that. He was alone now, truly alone. Even with Holly and the Mayor and Fran beside him, he was overwhelmed with the feeling. He'd left the mausoleum first.

The remainder of the household stood as they'd stood in the mausoleum, except now in front of the manor. They were waiting for their enemies to arrive. There was no point in disguising it, and none of them ever tried. Ricky lowered his gaze, but not bashfully. It was but an attempt to cool his anger. He glanced over his shoulder at Holly and the Mayor. They were each as calm as the other. The Mayor tried a kind smile. Holly didn’t feign such niceties. She just gave him an encouraging nod.

The Strutz pulled into the driveway, freshly waxed, open-topped, its wheels crunching on the gravel. Ricky didn’t bother smiling at the doll-like face in the back seat. He didn’t like her, and she only pretended to like him. Jeanne stepped out of the car, her meek parents hiding behind her.

“Mr Goldsworth,” she gushed, her arms extended as she came towards him. She embraced him lightly, as if touching him too firmly would give her a disease. He placed his hands on her sides, if only to guide her away. “Oh, I’m so very sorry for your loss. Lucy was a wonderful woman.”

He hummed his reply. At least now he could use mourning as an excuse to not want to talk. He let her go past him to shake Holly’s hand. Her parents were wispy individuals. He ignored them, and they seemed perfectly used to being ignored. The Springers used to be a weak family, with a tenuous hold on their terrority. Jeanne had popped out of her mother’s womb and changed that with a click of porcelain-perfect fingers. She smiled at Ricky, batting her bright blue eyes. Ricky gave her a lingering look, turning his head back towards the gates. Another car, bulkier, its engine harsher, skidded around the circular drive.

“Well, boy!” Branson slammed his car door shut with a meaty hand. His son did the same on the opposite side. “How’re you holding up, hm?”

He was a bull of a man, with white hair and a neat white beard. His son didn’t look all too much like him; more of a lion than a boar, with the same blonde hair his father had had when he was younger, but he was taller, leaner. He smiled at Ricky with sharp teeth. Ricky’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t feel like talking, no?” boomed the father. He never seemed to speak at a normal level. When he spoke, the entire world had no choice but to listen.

Ricky gritted his teeth as Branson pulled him into a too-tight embrace, hands slapping him on the back. Ricky didn’t return the enthusiasm. “Not really.”

Branson Jr extended a leather gloved hand. “You’ve grown.”

Ricky scowled at him, ignoring the hand, which slowly curled into a fist at being rejected. “Observant.”

“C’mon, bud.” He slapped the hand on Ricky’s shoulder, giving him a shake. “No hard feelings, right?”

Ricky brushed his hand away, an eyebrow raised. “I’m afraid I don’t have any other kind of feelings.”

The man tutted before stepping around him, moving after his father. The third car finally rolled up, and there was just one woman at the wheel, in a dark red bathing suit tucked into high black trousers. She lowered her sunglasses down her nose, looking at Ricky over them. Then she looked at Holly, and the Mayor. She looked at Fran for the longest, a dark brow arching. Then she stepped out of the car, her trousers legs swishing around her heeled shoes.

“Morning.”

Ricky didn’t like any of them, but out of them all, he disliked this one the most. He watched her come closer; she was taller than him by a few inches, and slimmer, but she had a look of his father nonetheless. She carried his Japanese features more clearly, her eyes more slanted than Ricky's, her hair more straight and thick. Ricky put his clenched fists in his pockets; he’d been so ignorant, all these years. Or maybe he hadn’t been; he hadn’t known what his father had looked like until yesterday, after all.

“Good morning, Atalaya.” Holly extended a hand, which was shaken firmly. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

She took off her sunglasses, clicking them closed. Then she smiled at Ricky. “Here, I suppose. Isn’t that right, little brother?”

The silence fell like a ten tonne weight. Ricky didn’t react, didn’t even twitch a finger. Holly narrowed her eyes at Laya’s grinning face. Jeanne had her own grin hidden behind a silk gloved hand, feigning shock. Fran, hands in her trouser pockets, distractedly kicked at a pebble on the ground before saying: “Careful, or you might join your mystery papa in the ground out the back.”

Laya arched a dark eyebrow at her. “And you are?”

“Francesca Norris,” she smiled widely, taking one hand from her pocket to shake Laya’s with fierce enthusiasm. “But you can call me more of a big sister to Ricky than you’ll ever be.”

“I think we should go inside,” said Holly, but not with as much command as she usually would. She gave Fran a small smile before turning away towards the manor. “Come along. Would anyone like refreshment?”

The sound of an engine made them all pause, turning their heads with expressions ranging from puzzled to intrigued. A much-less-fancy car rolled up, crackling to a halt on the stones. Tinsley stepped out, taking his hat off as he scanned the faces with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know you had visitors.”

“Well look at the size of that,” said Branson Jr, sounding mildly impressed. “What’s your name, hm? Goliath?”

Tinsley gave him a dry look, staying by the car. “Sure. If you want.”

“We do have visitors, detective,” said Holly coolly, seeing the faces grow a bit more guarded at the last word. “If you could come back some other ti-”

“I’ll catch up in a minute,” interrupted Ricky, nodding at the Mayor to escort the families inside. He didn’t look at Holly. He didn’t look at anyone at all until it was just him and Tinsley. Then he said: “What is it.”

“Hm?” Tinsley tapped his hat off his hand, leaning on his car, an elbow on the roof. “I don’t know. I just wanted to come up and say hi.”

“You’re being nosy.”

“Of course I’m being nosy. I can’t help it.” He wandered towards him, a playful glitter in his eyes. “C’mon. I’m dying of curiosity down there.”

Ricky rolled his eyes. “You can meet them later. At the- the dinner.”

Tinsley raised an eyebrow at the hesitance of the words. “Ricky, are you sure this isn’t all too much.”

“No. No, it’s fine.” He swallowed hard, not looking him in the eye. “I’m fine. I- You don’t need to be here. I don’t need you here.”

Tinsley searched his face closely. “Alright.”

He glanced at the door, seeing a round, doll-like face watching them from inside. He placed a hand on Ricky’s arm, giving it a squeeze. He spoke quietly.

“If you need me, call me.”

Ricky nodded, finally looking up at him, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

Tinsley gave the woman in the doorway a nod as he placed his hat back on over his unruly hair. Jean? Jenny? He couldn’t quite recall her name. Then he sat into his car and pulled away.

“Isn’t he handsome?” tittered Jeanne as Ricky strode past her. “Are you friends?”

“Good friends, I’d say,” added Branson Jr from the hall to the living room. He stepped aside as Ricky moved past. “ _Very_ good friends.”

“Shut up."

"Oh stop being such a drama queen," said Junior, following him like an unwanted shadow. "You're not the only one whose had a parent that decided to croak early."

Ricky shoved him. "Fuck you."

Junior shoved him back harder, back against the wall. Jeanne watched with eager eyes, on her tiptoes to see Ricky's face. She was a demon in disguise, and always had been.

"We're your guests now, Mr Goldsworth," sneered Junior; his breath was a cold mint. "Treat us with respect."

"Fuck you," repeated Ricky through gritted teeth. 

"Don't dent the wall," said Laya with vague interest, turning one of the rings on her fingers as she swanned out from the shadows. "When I get this place I want it all to be perfect."

"You won't get shit," snarled Ricky, moving forwards, only to be caught by the scruff like a bad dog. "Get off me. Get off!"

Junior grinned nastily. "Try yourself. God, this used to entertain me for hours."

The voice that interrupted them was cold enough to freeze the air they stood in. "Lunch is being served, ladies, gentlemen."

Ricky felt the grip on the back of his collar loosen. He kept his head turned aside as the other filed past into the dining room without even a glance back at him. He took a minute to breathe, leaning against the wall, hands pressed to his eyes. He could feel the tears hot against his palms.

"Would you like anything, sir?" The Mayor lingered beside him, his hands fidgeting behind his back. "If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to tell me."

"I know. I know. Thanks." He took a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his coat sleeves. Then he shrugged his coat off entirely, handing it to the Mayor. He swallowed hard, rubbing at his nose. It was only twenty-four hours. He could last twenty-four hours. But even as he tried quickly to convince himself, he was beginning to doubt himself quicker. Tinsley couldn't get here soon enough.


	3. Machination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Machination: a crafty scheme or cunning design for the accomplishment of a sinister end._

The quietest sounds are often the most frightening. Darla found this to be particularly true in the dusty office in which she worked. She hated the shuffling of the Doctor behind his office door. She hated the sound of the leaves brushing the one window in the room. She hated the murmuring of the Minister on the increasingly frequent occasions on which he wanted to talk to Fear. They were scheming, they were always scheming. They all were, and for once as a unit. She had expected it to feel empowering, but it didn't. All she knew was that if the Goldsworths wound down to a stop, the replacements wouldn't be much better. The only one she genuinely liked was the chief, and he had a backbone as strong as a blade of grass.

But there was one sound that always seemed to frighten her more than the rest. In this town, it was the most frightening sound to exist. A knock on the door.

She looked up at the sound, the neat _knock-knock-knock_ of gloved knuckles against wood. The door opened without much more warning. There was an odd silence.

Darla straightened up at her davenport, the nib of her pen lifting from the paper. “Hello, Ms Horsley.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Delaney.” She emphasized the ‘miss’. She closed the door behind her. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Just okay? That’s not too good.” Holly pulled her soft sealskin gloves off, a finger at a time. “You’re not having trouble with anything, are you?”

Darla smiled a dark lipsticky smile, but she knew it was being cut to pieces by the sharp grey eyes watching her. “No, I’m fine.”

“Good. You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you?”

Darla nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“Great.” Holly tried a smile, a coat of veneer over the coarse wood beneath. “Is the Doctor in?”

“No, Ms Horsley.”

“Good. I’m here to talk to you.”

Darla swallowed hard at this, putting her pen down. She let her gaze flicker to her bag, where her purse gun was hidden away. It didn’t matter; she could see a pistol under Horsley’s arm, in a slate grey holster. Darla smiled.

“How can I help?”

“You can help very, very much.” Holly smoothed down her coat, averting her gaze. She seemed almost apprehensive. Darla turned in her seat to face her more directly. “I- Hmm. I’m not too sure how to approach this.”

She chose a low table by the window to sit herself down on. She stared at the floor in pensive silence for a few minutes. “You’ve been waiting for a while to take Fear’s place, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s lived on for a lot longer than any of us expected.”

“He has.”

“What if I- What if I could offer you a better position?”

Darla raised an eyebrow. A year ago she would’ve jumped at the opportunity. Now she just felt scared, cursing the timing of it all. She smiled at Holly as if she was nice to be with. Holly smiled back as if she cared. The silence lingered with the dust in the air.

“Ricky is the last of his family.” Holly straightened up slightly before continuing. “I discussed it with Lucy at length before she passed. The Goldsworths can’t trail off into nonexistence. They’ve always been here.”

Darla just hummed her acknowledgement.

“I- We both know about Ricky. He’s not interested in women. He never has been, and I wouldn’t change that. I’ve never tried to change it.” She sighed heavily, fiddling with the gloves on her lap. “But if he presents himself as the last Goldsworth, he’ll be in danger. Terrible, terrible danger. The other families might decide to just get it over with and- and end the line early. You understand?”

Darla nodded, her face serious. “I understand.”

Holly nodded too, her lips pursing. “Okay. Good. The reason I’m here is that… Well, he’ll need a wife. And in the future, a child.”

Darla’s face was forcibly blank. “Okay.”

“I suppose I’m here to propose on his behalf,” she said quietly. “He knows what I’m doing. He’s agreed that he needs to have a child. He knows it’s essential.”

Darla stared in silence. Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap, her mouth a straight line. She decided to pass on feigning ignorance. “...You want me to marry Ricky.”

Holly tilted her head at the tone. “He’s never hurt you, has he?”

“No. No, in fact he’s always been quite kind to me.” Darla rubbed her thumbs against each other, turning her head aside. “I wouldn’t be in danger, would I?”

“I can quite firmly say no. Ricky has never laid hands on a woman.” Her voice went dry. “In any way.”

Darla kept her gaze aside. “And what if I was to say no?”

“Are you going to say no?”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Then we needn’t worry about what would’ve happened if you’d said no.” Holly got to her feet, pulling her coat closed, hiding the shiny pistol away again. “You’ll be safe, and you’ll be very well looked after. I assure you of that.”

“Can I- Can I come by to discuss it more with you?” asked Darla, finally looking at her again. “Just some terms and conditions. I’m sure you understand.”

Holly nodded. “I do.”

“And what about Tinsley?”

Holly stopped at the door, rolling her eyes at it. “What about him.”

“Aren’t he and Ricky, um, well-”

“He and Ricky are nothing but bad for each other,” said Holly coolly, cracking open the door. “Mark my words.”

Darla sat where she was for a long few minutes after Holly left. She turned to her davenport, picking up the phone before hesitating. She couldn’t call Tinsley, she couldn’t possibly. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him about this. She dialed the Minister, chewing on her lip as she waited for him to answer.

“Fitzgerald.”

“Hi. Hello. It’s Darla.”

“Miss Delaney! How are you?”

“Can we meet? Me, you, Banjo and the Doctor?”

A low hum. “No Detective Tinsley?”

“Well, I need your opinion on whether or not Tinsley should know this,” she mumbled, tapping a painted nail against the veneered wood of the davenport. “It’s kind of skewed things a bit. And it’s important. Really important.” She went quiet. “I think Holly is one step ahead of us.”

* * *

Tinsley parked his car among the fancier ones of the families. He squinted at the manor, hoping for a clue as to what the situation was inside. A bloodbath? A trap? He was being paranoid. He got out of the car and lit a cigarette and smoked it before going in. The hall was empty, devoid of even the Mayor. He must be busy with all the extra clients on his hands. Tinsley blinked at the new oil painting on the wall. Grandfather Goldsworth was no longer permitted to scowl hatefully upon new arrivals. Instead it was a large painting of Lucy. She was younger in it. It must have had been done many years ago. She smiled with her eyes. Tinsley preferred this one drastically. 

He made his way up the sweeping stairs. The halls were eerily quiet, like a battlefield before battle, no man's land. A few bedroom doors that had always been open were now closed. Tinsley kept his footsteps quiet.

Ricky was in his room, lying back on his bed, one hand lazily playing with the soft grey cat beside his head. His hair was still damp from the bath, his deep navy dressing robe vaguely tied around his waist. He didn't lift his head as the door opened and closed. He had eyes for the cat only, although it didn't quite seem as if he was seeing it. His voice was quiet.

“You're early.”

Tinsley arched an eyebrow, tossing his suit jacket onto the table as he passed. “And you're going to be late if you don't get dressed.”

“I don't care.” He rolled onto his front, chin resting on his forearm, his other hand scratching the purring cat softly under its chin. The robe clung to his body like he'd been dipped in ink. “They can starve.”

Tinsley gave him a flat look. Then he picked the cat up off the bed, cradling it like it was a baby. “Don't look at me like that. Get changed.”

Ricky scowled up at him, head resting on his folded arms. “Give her back.”

“No, Ricky. Stop moping.”

“I have every right to mope,” he muttered, rolling onto his back again, his arms spread against the bedcovers. He glared at the ceiling, even as Tinsley's face blocked it. “You don't have to worry. Everyone always likes you.”

“You didn't like me at first.”

Ricky finally looked at him, eyes narrowed wryly. “Yes I did.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Ricky grinned. Then he reached back over his head, managing to slip his fingers through the man's belt loops. “I liked your tidy little hips.”

“And you call me the charmer.” Tinsley brushed the hands away, still holding the cat. It gave an indignant _mrrp_ as it was jostled. “Not now, Ricky. They're all in the house.”

“ _Dios mío_ , fine.” He got off the bed, pushing his hands back through his dark hair as he stretched leisurely. The robe hung open until halfway down his torso. “Relax.”

Tinsley rolled his eyes, carrying the cat to the door. Its brass name tag shone. “Victoria? Who names their cat Victoria?” He let it drop to the floor and slip out into the hall. “Well it _is_ Holly's, I guess.”

“How do you know it's Holly's?” asked Ricky as he studied himself in the mirror on the dresser.

Tinsley thought back to when he'd first seen the cat, and decided against mentioning his break-in to Holly's room. It probably wouldn't go down too well. “Well Victoria is some British monarch, right?”

Ricky shrugged, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping too well. The nightmares were beginning to set in like a plague. “Sure. I don't know.”

He went to the wardrobe, gathering the pieces of a suit and chucking them onto the bed. Then he let his robe just slide off, throwing a sly smile over his shoulder at the detective. Tinsley averted his gaze in an attempt to stay focused. He folded his arms across his chest, tightly. Ricky bit on his lip in a mischievous smile as he started getting dressed.

“We could always be a little late,” he suggested, doing up his trousers. “You're here early, after all.”

There wasn't much of a response. Then he felt Tinsley's warm hands rest on his waist, thumbs pressing into his back. Ricky turned his head to smile up at him, closing his eyes as the taller man leaned down to kiss him. He raised a hand to rest on the side of Tinsley's neck, guiding him deeper into the kiss. Tinsley broke off, speaking the words quietly against the other man's lips.

“The sooner it starts, the sooner it's over, yeah?”

Ricky sighed moodily, letting his hand slide off Tinsley’s neck as the man moved away. “Not soon enough.”

He finished dressing, sitting at the end of his bed as he tied his shoes, watching Tinsley out on the balcony, toying with a cigarette, looking over the gardens. He’d never met someone who stood in such a lax manner, as if he might just melt into the floor at any moment. The black waistcoat hugged his slim frame, strikingly neat compared to his mussed hair. Ricky joined him on the balcony, hugging him from behind, breathing him in.

“You look very handsome,” he mumbled into the fabric of the waistcoat.

Tinsley smiled, lifting his arm, letting Ricky slide under it before settling it around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I should thank you too,” said Ricky, his arms still around the taller man’s waist, head resting against his chest. “For coming tonight. It means a lot.”

Tinsley looked down at him, at the side of his face he could see. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Ricky nodded, his gaze lowered. “Yes.”

Tinsley pressed his lips together in a line. Then he tucked a finger under the shorter man’s chin, tilting his head back so he could look him in the eye. “I’ve never met anyone like you in my life, Ricky. You’re smart, you’re determined, and you’re goddamn terrifying. And if any of them are in their right mind, they’d know it’s safer to be with you than be against you. I’d know all about it.”

Ricky smiled, surprisingly shy. “You think I’m terrifying?”

Tinsley rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he put the cigarette back in his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

Ricky took his free hand, holding it in both his own and giving it a firm squeeze before positively skipping back into the bedroom. He did a small twirl, falling back onto the bed with a relaxed sigh. He let a hand drift out, fumbling the phone from its hook without looking.

“Mayor?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Any of them down yet?”

“Branson Senior and Junior are in at the bar, sir.” A pause. “Darla has arrived.”

Ricky sat upright, his gaze flickering to Tinsley on the balcony. “Okay. Keep her downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ricky put the phone down, letting his hand stay gripping it for a few minutes. He got to his feet, wandering towards the balcony. Tinsley’s brows drew together questioningly, his head tilted aside as he watched the other man come closer. The evening light was low and soft on Ricky’s face.

“What is it?”

Ricky rubbed the back of his fingers along his jaw, back and forth, his gaze averted. “I, um, I have to-”

The rapid knocking at the door ended the sentence. Holly stepped into the room in trademark grey, the cat almost indistinguishable in her arms. She raised her eyebrows at the tall figure on the balcony, who returned the disdainful look.

“They’re here, Ricky. They’re settling into their rooms.”

Ricky tutted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fine. I’ll be down in a second.” He looked back at Tinsley, still somewhat uncomfortable. Then he said: “Wait here.”

Tinsley waited. He lingered on the balcony, smoked another cigarette, had a little nosy around Ricky’s dresser and wardrobe. He held a red tie in his hand, looking it over. He liked it. He took off his own black one and put on Ricky’s with a satisfied nod. Then he noticed the Mayor halfway in the door.

“Christ, Mayor. What are you lurking at?”

The Mayor cleared his throat. “Ms Atalaya wants to talk to you.”

Tinsley inclined his head, turning to face him as he tucked his tie in behind his waistcoat. “Oh. Now?”

“Yes. Before the dinner.”

“I see.” He rubbed at the point of his nose, his gaze suspicious. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He followed the Mayor down the hall and around the corner, the air seeming to grow darker as they moved along. The Mayor paused beside a room Tinsley had never been in, nodding towards the dark wood door. Tinsley took a deep breath, waiting until the Mayor had moved on before he knocked on the door, a light one, hoping that maybe she wouldn’t hear. She did.

“Come in.”

He came in. He closed the door behind him, observing the room. It was large and dark, with oil lamps on every second surface, and an open suitcase on the bed. But no Laya. He heard the water splashing smoothly, finally noticing the wooden screen. He could see the brass legs of the bathtub through the gap between the screen and the floor. He cleared his throat.

“Should I come back later, or-”

“Oh, not at all.” He heard the water dripping as it was wrung out of long dark hair. “Just stay right there, brown eyes.”

He pressed his lips in a line, glancing around the room again. He wandered towards the bed, poking at the suitcase. He picked up a garment; a silk nightdress in a deep red. She certainly had a favourite colour.

“I just wanted to see you up close,” came the smoky voice, just audible over the sound of water as she stepped out of the bath. “See what all the fuss is about.”

He dropped the pajamas back onto the bed, loosening his tie as he turned back around. “I, personally, have no idea. But if you can figure it out, do tell me.”

“Funny.” She emerged from behind the screen, wrapped in a towel that was just about keeping her decent. Her dark wet hair was piled atop her head, held in place by a gold clasp. “I heard you were funny.”

“Mm.”

“Come here, brown eyes. Let me get a look at you.”

He reluctantly did so, only because it moved him closer to the door. Her eyes ran over his face; they were more hazel than anything else, slanted elegantly. She looked more like her father than Ricky did. She raised a dark eyebrow.

“Yeah, you're cute,” she smiled. It was a familiar smile; it showed teeth that would tear you apart without a second's notice. “And you're all Ricky's, hm?”

“No,” said Tinsley firmly, arms folded across his chest. “I'm not his. I'm mine.”

“That's good to know.”

She lifted her hands from her towel and let it simply fall to the floor. Tinsley averted his wide eyes, his breath caught in his throat. He knew now, without a doubt, that this was indeed Ricky's half-sister; not many people acted with such brazenness. He kept his eyes aside even as she strolled right past him, the smell of her shampoo filling his head. He swallowed hard. She disappeared behind the wooden screen.

“Why am I here?” he asked, turning his back to where she was.

“I have a secret, detective.” Fabric rustled. “A secret I'd _love_ to tell you.”

“Well then tell me.”

“I need your opinion first.” A moment's pause. “Is this one too much?”

He looked over his shoulder. The dark red number was split up her leg to her thigh, the sweetheart neckline hugging her close. Not quite appropriate attire for the situation at hand, but he had a feeling she knew this. She smiled. He closed his mouth. The Goldsworth kids were certainly giving him both barrels tonight.

“No. No, I think it's good.”

“Good?” She pouted, and again it was as if Ricky had possessed her for the duration of the expression. “Hm. I suppose I could try the black one. Or-”

“Just tell me why I'm here,” he demanded, finally turning back to face her directly. “I have other things on my schedule for tonight.”

She smiled again, her mouth curving. She swanned over to her dresser in bare feet, picking up some dark lip lacquer and shaking it. “I'm Ricky's half-sister.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. I know.”

“And I'm older.” She turned, a hand on her hip, the other pausing in shaking the lip lacquer. “This place should be mine.”

“You're not a Goldsworth,” said Tinsley firmly. “You-”

“Neither is Ricky,” she replied icily. “He's his father's son, but he took his mother's name. Therefore he’s not really a Goldsworth. Yes?”

“He's still next of kin.”

“ _I'm_ next of kin,” she spat back. “I'm his older sister!”

Tinsley arched an eyebrow, turning on his heel and wandering towards the door. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“I want your help.”

“Absolutely not.”

She joined him at the door, holding it closed. “So you'd rather he be in charge of this place.”

Tinsley kept his face guarded, his eyes locked on hers. “I don't know enough about you to decide that.”

“I don't murder people for fun,” she replied impudently, her chin raised. “That should be enough.”

“Well it's not.”

“I see. So you've fallen head over heels for a pretty face and a pretty ass.” She snorted, leaving him at the door. She went to her dresser and sat, finally taking the brush from the lacquer and starting at her lips. “I thought you had a head on your shoulders. I guess I was wrong.” She threw a disdainful look over her shoulder at him. “The other families want me here. They’ll do anything for me to be here. This is where I belong.”

Tinsley shrugged. “The whole politics of this is pretty lost on me. But last time I checked, Ricky would rather die than give this place up.”

“Well then he will.” Laya swiped the dark lacquer along the curve of her bottom lip. It shone in the low light. “And so will you. And so will that bitch Horsley, if either of you try and stop me.”

“You’re challenging Holly, are you?” Tinsley snorted, opening the door. “Best of luck with that. If you appreciate the feeling of your brains being in your skull, make sure you enjoy it while it lasts.”

He closed the door, dusting his hands of that encounter. The Mayor breezed past with a silver tray laden with just-cleaned glasses, as if he hadn’t been hovering outside the door for the past ten minutes.

“Hey, Mayor. You know where Ricky is?”

“I believe he’s down with the Bransons, sir.”

They met with Holly at the top of the stairs, who was just on her way down, smoothing her grey skirts around her. She turned the silver ring on her little finger, listening to the brash laughter from downstairs. Tinsley arched an eyebrow at her before saying: “And what could possibly have you nervous?”

She turned her head away, starting down the stairs with a regal manner. “You’re out of your depth here, detective. Just remember that.”

“I’m never out of my depth. Have you seen these bad boys?” He slapped the side of one of his legs.

“I don’t find you funny as much as I find you irritating.” She gave his tie a light tug. “You're wearing one of Ricky's ties. Subtle.”

“Oh. So I am.” He looked away, back at the people he could see in the living room as they descended the stairs. He didn’t fit in here, not in the slightest. “Maybe you should've been the detective.”

“A female detective? Unlikely.” She observed the other families with cool eyes. “Maybe one day such ‘insanity’ will be allowed.”

“You want women detectives? You didn’t strike me as a progressive.”

“And why not.”

He looked down at her, sidelong. They came to a halt in the hall. The Mayor moved on. “You disapprove of me and Ricky.”

“And why do you think I disapprove.”

“Do I need to elaborate?”

Holly blew air out through her mouth in a weary sigh. “I don’t disapprove of your lifestyle. Either of you. I care for Ricky, I always have. I’ve never tried to change him and I never will.” She turned to face him a tad more directly, her shoulder cutting him off from the rest of the people. “I disapprove of _you_ , detective. I’ve been working for a long time to create some sort of plateau for Ricky, some stability for when his mother passed. I got rid of his rivals, I got rid of any potential trouble and risked my life doing so. Then you turned up, and set him off again. Set it _all_ off again. You don’t know what he’s like. Not truly.”

“I have a vague idea.”

“Oh, did he turn on the tapworks around you? Maybe pout a little? Shed a tear?” She shook her head, almost disappointed. “Don’t tell me you fell for that.”

Tinsley set his jaw, eyes fixed on hers. “What do you mean.”

“He’s unstable,” she said quietly. “This mental instability, it's always run in the male side of the family. And his father wasn't the most sane individual either. He’s… He’s a terribly unhappy man, detective. I don’t know if you understand that.”

Tinsley raised an eyebrow. “Unhappy?”

“Yes. Unhappy. And he doesn’t know how to deal with it appropriately.” The words sounded empathetic, but her face remained blank, robotic. “He was never accepted as part of the family. Not by the town, and not by the other families. He was essentially spat upon at every event. It’s heartbreaking, Tinsley, to see a young boy so excluded. And at such a vulnerable age.” She turned her head aside, her gaze distant. “The anger started young. And it only grew worse. He acts so cruel, so vindictive, only because it gives him control over why people hate him.” She turned back to look at him, and her eyes were so different, so soft. “People said the most awful things to him. Truly awful. No child should be exposed to such hate so young.”

Tinsley felt a tug at his heart. “That’s why he hates these people so much.”

“And they hate him. He’s vulnerable, Tinsley. And he doesn’t react well to being vulnerable.” She let out another sigh, holding her drink in both hands. “I promised his mother I’d keep him safe. From anyone who might hurt him.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were back to being slatey. “From anyone he might hurt.”

Tinsley’s eyes narrowed at this. “What?”

“Do you remember,” she said quietly. “When I told you that most men who follow Ricky to bed don’t tend to come back alive?”

“I remember.”

She looked away, swilling her drink around her glass absent-mindedly. “It wasn’t a figure of speech.”

Tinsley drew a quiet breath at this statement, his eyes still narrowed slightly. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Holly gave him a nod before turning away. She joined Branson for a very friendly conversation, it seemed. All on the surface. He dawdled for a moment in the doorway, accepting a drink from the Mayor. He sipped at it frequently. Then he pushed up onto his tiptoes, squinting across the room at the bar. Ricky was there, and not alone. A man was with him, young and ruggedly handsome, with white teeth and cold eyes. Handsome. Too handsome. Tinsley moved towards them, seeing nothing else at all.

“Heard your pop was a loon, hm?” Branson Jr grinned at him with white teeth. “Must be hereditary.”

Ricky ignored him, turning his head away. His fingers tapped against the glass of his drink, his elbows pressed to the bar’s surface, as if they could keep him anchored. He lowered his gaze to his watch; only ten minutes had passed and he was broiling with rage. He let out a cooling breath.

“Your whole family is - was - full of loopers, wasn't it?”

“Piss off,” snapped Ricky, glaring sidelong at him.

“Your pop, your grandpa, your nana, and hey, maybe even your mom, if she stuck around to raise you.”

Ricky fixed him with an unblinking stare, his jaw set. “What did you just say?”

“I said your mom must've been fucking cracked to bother raising a pansy like you,” said Junior, one elbow resting on the bar. “Is that true too? Are you a little fairy? Wouldn't expect anything else really. Having no pop would do that to you.”

Ricky didn’t move a muscle for a few long seconds. Then he abandoned his drink, turning to face him, closing the small space between them, but before he could decide where to strike first he felt a hand on his shoulder. It didn't pull. It didn't shove. It just rested and remained resting. He looked at the owner, shaking with anger.

“You alright?” asked Tinsley quietly, observing Ricky's face with hidden concern.

“I think he was about to try and fuck me!” exclaimed Junior, his eyes wide, but a nasty smile pulled at his mouth. “I-”

“Last time I checked he had eyes in his head, Bobby.” The detective let his hand slide down Ricky's shoulder to his back, still close and comforting. “I'd advise you leave if you want to keep yours in your head too.”

“It's Bill,” said the man heatedly.

“Sure, Bruno.” Tinsley nodded towards the crowd. “On your way.”

Ricky waited until the man had grumpily left before speaking. “I'm going to take his face off his skull and make him eat it.”

Tinsley let his hand drop off Ricky's back, pulling a face. “Right.”

“And I'll do the same to his stupid fucking father.” Ricky reached over the bar, yanking the cork out of the bottle of red wine and letting it slosh into his glass. “All of them. Each of them. Dead.”

“Slow down,” said Tinsley, taking the full glass from the man's stiff hand. “It's just another few hours. Then you can wear yourself out another way, hm?” He grinned at him, seeing Ricky's face relax slightly. “Sound good?”

Ricky lowered his gaze, his lips pressing together in a smile. “Sounds good.”

* * *

"Don't you want to?" Fran smiled at her, a wide one. "We'd be sisters!"

"I know. I know." Darla half-heartedly smiled, holding her drink on her crossed legs. "But it's not what I imagined. You know, when you're a little girl and you think about getting married and it's always the man of your dreams, you know?"

"I actually don't," replied Fran with raised eyebrows, stirring her drink with her straw. They'd resided outside, away from the prying families. It was a warm evening, the smell of late spring in the air. "I never wanted it."

"Well I did," said Darla with a small pout. "Holly said I have to give him a child."

"Forget what Holly says," said Fran moodily. She stabbed at a piece of ice in her glass. "She wouldn't know anything. She never wanted to get married, and never wanted anything to do with men at all. She views it all like some sinister plot to take away her independence. And maybe she's right."

"It could be lovely though," said Darla dreamily, her gaze distant. "At least, in my mind it always was."

Fran pressed her lips together in a small smile. She took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "At least we'll be living together, right? That could be fun."

"No. No one will be living here." Laya took a seat at their table, entirely uninvited and entirely disregarding of this fact. "Maybe I'll keep the Mayor. But that's all." 

Fran raised an eyebrow at her. "You're delusional, you know that?"

"I'm not delusional. I'm ambitious. Learn the difference." She looked Fran over, at her black skin and black curls tied back in a white satin headscarf. It matched the white of her shirt. Laya smiled over her drink. "Maybe I'll keep you too. You're pretty."

"I'd rather be homeless," said Fran dryly, folding her arms as she sat back. "Thanks."

Laya smiled again. Despite her face, she had an unpleasant smile, like a shark. Her eyes flitted to Darla. "And who's this? Another adopted sibling?"

Darla didn't reply. She lit a cigarette and tapped the ash off, all without taking her flat gaze from Laya's. She checked her nails. Laya's face went sour.

"I just asked you a question."

"Mm, so you did." Darla got to her feet, her brows raised in disinterest. She could see Fran half-trying to stifle her smile. She turned away and headed back into the manor.

The silence lingered. Laya took a mouthful of her drink, swallowing it before saying: "So she's a right princess, is she?"

"I suppose she is," said Fran with an almost pitiful smile as she looked at her. "Which makes me the knight in shining armour. And I guess that makes you the wicked witch. Strangely fitting, isn't it."

Laya gave her a disapproving once-over. "You're not half as funny as you think you are, Fran."

Fran distractedly pulled at one of her unruly curls as she leaned forwards to whisper like it was all a big secret. "Still makes me funnier than you."

* * *

"I don't fit in here."

"Tell me about it."

Darla lingered by the bar with Tinsley, holding her glass in both hands. "I've never even been to a dinner party."

"Me neither. Never wanted to." He frowned slightly, looking sidelong at her. "Why _are_ you here, actually? Did Fran invite you?" 

She gave him a very, very odd look. Her grip tightened and loosened and tightened again on her drink. "...We're friends, right?"

"I, uh, yeah. I suppose." He inclined his head at this, fixing her with a more curious look. "Why would you ask that?"

"Just... to check."

She gave him a small smile before wandering off. She blended right into the crowd with her black dress; in it, she appeared to be a floating marble bust. Tinsley didn't think much of the conversation. She'd always been a bit odd, a bit stony, impassive to those she didn't care for. Tinsley swallowed hard, readjusting his grip on his drink. He went to take a sip, but ended up downing the entire thing. He felt a presence at his shoulder.

“Your glass, sir.”

Tinsley looked at the Mayor, the only other individual in the room that he didn't have to look down at to make eye contact. Then he blinked himself back into the scene. “Oh. Thanks.”

He placed the empty glass on the tray, beside the glass of water. The Mayor gave the subtlest of nods towards the water. “That’s for you, sir.”

Tinsley stared at the water. Then he picked it up, using it to give the smallest of salutes to the butler. The Mayor moved on, one white-gloved hand balancing the tray, the other resting behind his back. Tinsley sipped the water in an attempt to relax. He forced his shoulders to settle, lifting his chin a little. He glimpsed himself in the mirror to his left, immediately attempting to flatten his hair. _Cooperate. Please cooperate_.

“Tinsley.”

He turned his head, looking down at Ricky’s teasing face. “Yeah?”

“Leave it.” He touched him lightly on the arm, his other hand holding a drink. “It’s cute.”

Tinsley pressed his lips together in a small smile. “Fun crowd.”

“Tell me about it.” He took a mouthful of his drink; his teeth bit on the glass. “I can’t stand the sight of them here. It’s really starting to get on my fucking nerves.”

Tinsley spared a glance around their immediate vicinity, resting a hand on the other man’s lower back as he guided him across the room. “When should the dinner be done and dusted?”

“Not soon enough,” muttered Ricky, placing his empty glass aside. It was swept away in seconds. “I let them in and I shelter them and I feed them and they’ll still gut me given the chance.”

“Then don’t give them the chance.”

Ricky looked up at him with a wry smile. “Do I ever.”

“No. No, you don’t.” He smiled at him, his eyes soft. "Let's just get on with it then, yeah?"

And so they did get on with it. The meal was served. It was, as usual, quite delicious. The guests were well-behaved. Tinsley didn't like this. There was something off about them. He always had a sixth-sense when it came to something being off, and it was kicking in heavily. He kept catching the tail end of glances being thrown at him. He caught Holly's eye over the table, through the candlelight. She smiled. It made him feel sick to the stomach. He looked beside him at Ricky, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last twenty minutes. He wasn't eating much. He was drinking his dinner instead. The Mayor was quite busy refilling his glass. Darla sat to the other side of Ricky. She was also picking at her meal, twisting the pasta around her fork with a strange sadness to her lowered gaze. Tinsley looked back around, finding Junior's smiling face at the other end of the table. Junior winked at him. Tinsley glared. The sound of a knife hitting a glass was like a knelling bell. Holly was on her feet.

"I want to thank you all for coming such long ways tonight," she said with a faint smile. That was the furthest a smile ever went on her face. "Lucía will be sorely missed by us all."

There was a murmur of agreement. Tinsley felt a hand wrap around his under the table. He didn't need to check who it was.

"But the Goldsworth family will go on," said Holly firmly. "And with that, there is an important announcement tonight. One that I wish Lucy could have been around to hear.”

Tinsley stared at her over his glasses as she spoke. He could feel Ricky’s hand tighten around his, painfully tight. He didn’t pull away.

“And that is that Miss Darla Delaney will soon be Mrs Darla Goldsworth,” said Holly.

For a split second there was silence. Then the cooing and the awing and the congratulations swept in like a flood. Darla smiled demurely, resting her hand on Ricky’s. Ricky himself couldn’t seem to muster a real smile. He listened to their insincere wishes of good luck and looked at their fake smiles and felt Tinsley’s hand slip from his. Ricky couldn’t look at him. He spared a sidelong glance, seeing Tinsley sitting still, his eyes stuck to the tablecloth in front of him. His face was blank and pale, his fists clenched under the table. He turned in his seat to face Ricky, slowly, in shock. He didn’t look at him, even though Ricky was staring at him with round eyes, begging for him to understand. Tinsley placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a weak squeeze and muttered congratulations, low under the rest of the chattering guests. Then he got to his feet and left the table. Ricky swallowed hard, watching him disappear out the door.

“Go,” whispered Darla, giving his hand a subtle squeeze. “It’s okay.”

Ricky looked at her with big eyes. “I- I just-”

“Oh your children will be just _darling_ ,” said Jeanne across the table, blinking her lashes at them. “That’s next on the horizon then, isn’t it?”

Ricky opened his mouth to reply. Darla interrupted before he could, chatting away with her, pushing at Ricky to go. He got to his feet, leaving the room, leaving the oppressive niceties. He passed the Mayor, who simply nodded towards the front door. Ricky hurried out, watching for headlights. There were none. Tinsley sat on the bonnet of his car, legs crossed, his back to the manor and a cigarette in his hand. He rubbed a weary hand down his face, bringing it back up to run through his hair. He turned his head ever so slightly at the sound of crunching gravel, but he didn’t bother looking properly. His entire body felt too heavy to ever bother moving again.

“Tinsley, I- You know I have to do this.”

Tinsley exhaled the smoke sharply, looking ahead again. “You made me look like a total ass in there, Ricky.”

“I know. I know I should’ve told you but I didn’t know how.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” He tapped the ash off his cigarette, watching the sparks float down and go out against the ground. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”

Ricky chewed on his lip, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” Tinsley straightened up off the bonnet, finally turning to face him across the car. “I’m going home.”

“I don’t want to do this!” Ricky gestured helplessly. “I don’t! I have to! Otherwise-”

“Otherwise they’ll kill you. Yeah, I know the spiel.” He flicked his cigarette aside, his other hand clenched in his pocket. “You- You could’ve at least warned me.”

“I know. I know I should’ve but-”

“I told you already,” said Tinsley stiffly, standing at his car door. “I don’t want to become known as your honey. Your bit of fun on the side. And I meant it when I said it.”

“You’re acting like a spoilt brat, Tinsley.”

“Excuse me?” Tinsley closed his car door that he’d just opened, circling the bonnet to him to point a hard finger in his face. “You made me look like a fucking idiot. You did _exactly_ what I asked you not to do.”

“And since when do I do what you ask?” Ricky brushed the finger away, fists clenching by his sides. “Maybe I made you look like a fucking idiot because you are one.”

Tinsley straightened up slightly at this. “Well I must be, if I’m letting myself get ticked off because of _you_.”

“You’re throwing a damn hissy fit,” replied Ricky disdainfully, looking him over. “Like a child.”

“Like a child?” Tinsley looked down his nose at him. “Well at least I don’t go around acting like a fucking whore.”

Ricky’s face went blank. Then he lashed out, striking him across the face with the back of his hand. Tinsley stumbled against the bonnet, cupping his face, eyes wide in shock. For a moment there was silence. Then he returned the slap, just as hard if not harder. Ricky hit him back, anywhere he could reach, spitting curses and threats with fierce vehemence until Tinsley grabbed him by the collar and dragged him around and shoved him down on the bonnet. He kissed him hard and Ricky kissed him back, wrapping himself around the detective, their fingers clawing into each other, their breaths heavy and erratic. Tinsley caught hold of his wrist, pinning it back against the cold metal, feeling the man’s body pressing against his, their hips grinding against each other. Tinsley let out a low moan into the other man’s mouth, feeling Ricky’s free hand running through his hair, grabbing a fistful, drawing him in harder.

Tinsley broke off, keeping a hold of his wrist, pulling him up off the bonnet. Ricky fell against him, letting out a sharp curse. They got into the car, Ricky straddling the detective in the driver’s seat, letting his suit jacket fall off him before starting at Tinsley’s shirt collar. He let his parted lips linger near Tinsley’s, drawing away any time the man tried to close the small space between them. He rested his elbows on the car seat behind Tinsley’s shoulders, slowly grinding his hips forwards, pressing his body up against the other man’s.

“Yeah? You like that?” Ricky breathed the words against the detective’s parted mouth, their foreheads resting against each other. He continued rocking his hips back and forth, working the other man up. “Feels good, right?”

Tinsley nodded in silence, his gaze lowered, hands moving from Ricky’s hips to his own belt. He’d barely fumbled it open when Ricky grabbed hold of his hands, keeping them still, feeling Tinsley freeze entirely. The detective raised his gaze back to Ricky’s, swallowing hard at the burning anger in them. Ricky muttered the words against his lips.

“Who’s the fucking whore now, hm?”

Tinsley didn’t reply, letting Ricky open the door and climb out and slam it closed after him. He leaned back in his seat, hands over his face, running them back through his hair. He sat for a few minutes in a futile attempt to calm his racing heart. He hurried to button his shirt, hands shaking. Then he started the engine and pulled away from the manor. He needed a drink. He needed many drinks.

He’d barely gotten into his apartment and poured one for himself when there was a knock at the door. He debated ignoring it, resting his hands either side of the glass, head hanging. There was a knock again, louder, not with a fist. With a cane.

“Tinsley!” Fear’s voice reached him through the door, somewhat hushed. “What happened? Why are you home so soon, eh?”

“Nothing!” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?” came Banjo’s concerned voice.

“I- I’m fine, I just-”

“Let us in,” said Fitzgerald, also rapping on the door. “We know about Darla.”

Tinsley closed his eyes, pressing his lips together in a line. He went over to the door and slid the bolt back before returning to his drink. “It’s open.”

“Well?” Fitzgerald placed his Bible on the side table beside the door. The other two filed in behind him. “What happened?”

Tinsley took a large mouthful of his drink, swallowing it hard. “It was fine. Then it wasn’t.”

“The announcement didn’t go too well, did it?” said Banjo quietly, standing behind the couch.

Tinsley pressed his lips together, still with his back to them. “How many of you knew.”

“I-”

“How many,” he said icily.

The Minister shared a few meaningful glances with the other two men, throwing them back and forth at each other, arguing with their eyes. It was a language that all three of them had mastered while living in the town. They didn't have any other options, anyway.

Tinsley furious shout made them all jump. “TELL ME!”

The Minister looked down, seeming a bit ashamed for once. “Darla phoned me this morning and told me. She asked me not to tell you.”

“Why not,” demanded Tinsley, finally turning to glower at each of them. “Why didn’t she want me to know.”

“Well, your reaction, for one,” said Fear, collapsing onto the couch. He held his cane in both hands. “Which you’re not helping yourself too much with right now.”

“I’m a grown man, Fear. I could’ve handled the news. What I can’t handle is the humiliation of _not_ being told.” He took a heavy mouthful of his drink, turning back around to the table to top it up. The gold liquid sloshed. “We- We had an argument. I don’t think he’s going to talk to me for a while.”

“Well you’re going to need to get him to talk to you, big fella.” Fear tapped his cane on the ground, a firm movement. “You’re our eyes on the inside.”

“I’m not going to apologize to him,” muttered Tinsley, closing his eyes. “He was in the wrong. He still is. He made me- I looked like a fucking- Forget it. I'm not apologizing.”

“There’s more things at stake here than your pride, detective.” The Minister raised his chin righteously. “There’s our livelihoods.”

“You promised you’d help us,” added Banjo, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his forehead. “Please don’t back out.”

Tinsley scowled into his drink. He didn’t turn to face them. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go back up later. When it’s quietened down. Even though I don't see why I should. Darla can be the new eyes on the inside.” 

The Minister shook his head. "Ricky won't confide in her like he does in you, detective. But she'll still have a part to play."

Tinsley went still. He narrowed his eyes at them. "A part to play in what? Have you planned something?"

Fear tapped his cane on the ground with every few words. He was excited, bordering on bloodthirsty. "If we try to kill the boy, one of the other rats will just take over. The accursed Holly Horsley. Maybe that uncontrollable Francesca. We don't want that. So if Miss Delaney marries Mr Goldsworth, and the boy perhaps has some tragedy come upon him _then_..."

Tinsley finished the sentence with numb words. "Darla inherits everything."

"Darla inherits everything," repeated Fear with a nod. "And we can go from there. Yes?"

Tinsley took a mouthful of his drink to disguise his swallow. He lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, turning away from them. "Sure. Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I'll go back to the manor later and see what I can do about Ricky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s0ggy-onions on tumblr requested a while ago that i include ricky with a cat. it inspired me. thank u


	4. veni, vidi, vici

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so Tinsley and Ricky basically bang for this entire chapter BUT it's not _without_ plot so my apologies to any ace readers I may have
> 
> but 2 all the horny boys out there? yeehaw

Tinsley stood outside the manor for the time in which it took to smoke his cigarette. He smoked it slow. He wandered back and forth, his footsteps crunching against the stones. He almost wished someone would hear him and come out to see what he wanted. At least then he wouldn't have to go inside. If he did, he had a feeling he wasn't going to come back out for the night. He chewed on his lip, one hand fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. He ended up unbuttoning it, tugging at the ends. He looked at the manor again, at all the lights that were on that had never been on before. The families must have stayed the night. He brightened a bit at this idea; at least it wouldn't just be him and Ricky. Or so he hoped.

He went up to the door, hesitating for a moment before going to knock. The door was opened before he could touch it. The Mayor blinked in that gentle manner that was a pleasant replacement for a smile. He never smiled. He just blinked, perhaps tilted his head a tad. He did that too.

"Evening, detective. Come in."

Tinsley frowned at him, stepping past. "Did you know I was outside?"

"Yes. Mr Goldsworth ordered me not to go outside to you." He lowered his gaze, again with a tilt of his head. "He seems to want you to go up to him. He's in his bedroom."

Tinsley gritted his teeth at this, rolling up his sleeves more firmly around his elbows. "Right. Of course."

A bell tinkled on the wall, nestled along a dozen others. It was labelled _Bedroom 5_. The Mayor pursed his lips.

"Do I need to show you the way to Mr Goldsworth's room, sir?"

"No. No, you surely don't."

Tinsley went up the stairs, his hand trailing along the banister, nails just scratching it. He paused at the top, his chest rising and falling hard as he saw Ricky's room with its door closed, a quiet light peeking out along the bottom. He tugged his tie looser; no, not his tie. Ricky's tie. It felt like it was choking him. He gave his head a little shake before beginning to advance down the corridor. He asked himself why he was so nervous, and immediately regretted asking himself such a question. There were so many answers.

He stopped outside the door, raising a hand. His knuckles grazed it. Then he knocked three times, rapidly. The reply was quiet.

"Come in."

Tinsley straightened up, rolling his shoulders. Then he took hold of the handle and pushed the door open. He closed it behind him, leaning back against it. The room was dark and lined in gold, the oil lamps soft. Ricky was standing on the balcony, his silhouette only visible as it blocked out the stars. A puff of smoke curled into the air. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Tinsley looked back, pressing his hands back against the door in order to stop them from clenching into fists. 

"Ricky."

"Tinsley."

The detective let out a quiet breath, watching the other man wander back into the room. His tie hung loose around his collar. He had a drink in one hand, the other still occupied with the cigarette. He took a drag on it; the glow from the end barely lit his face in the dark, but his eyes were glittering dangerously nonetheless. Tinsley swallowed.

"About earlier..."

"Spit it out already." Ricky kept his eyes on his as he moved across the room to the table. He held his drink down at his hip in a languid hand. "And don't try and charm your way out of this. I'm still... quite angry with you."

Tinsley didn't move from the door. "How angry."

"Angry enough. But I can be swayed." He smiled, that cruel curve of his mouth. "My arm can be twisted, so to speak."

"That's good."

“I'm assuming you're here to apologize.” Ricky threw him a contemptuous glance over the rim of his glass before sinking into a chair beside the table. “I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“Why don’t you want to hear it.”

“Because people don’t apologize to me, Tinsley.” He took another drag on his cigarette, gaze lowered as he spoke around it. “They... beg for my forgiveness.”

Tinsley gritted his teeth at the purred words, his fists clenching by his sides. “Right.”

“Mm.” Ricky picked up his drink again, his dark eyes not leaving Tinsley’s for a second. “So get on your knees, and beg.”

Tinsley narrowed his eyes at him, quite evilly indeed. “So you’re going to be like that.”

“You’re getting off easily this time, Tinman. Next time I won’t be so kind.” He uncrossed his legs, gesturing at the space in front of his seat. “Now do what I said.”

Tinsley stared at him in cold silence. He circled the table slowly, one hand brushing along it, a finger tracing along the edge. “You want me to beg.”

“Like your life depends on it,” replied Ricky just as quietly, watching him from under his dark lashes.

Tinsley got down on his knees, his hands brushing up the insides of Ricky’s thighs before pushing them further apart so he could fit comfortably between them. “And what if I have you begging instead.”

Ricky smiled, feeling the other man’s breath hot on his mouth. “Then you can consider yourself forgiven.”

Tinsley didn’t smile. He tilted his head aside, pushing a kiss under the man’s jaw, hearing the satiated sigh. He kissed him again, open-mouthed, running the kisses down the side of his neck, his fingers unbuttoning Ricky’s shirt one button at a time. He let the man take hold of his jaw, push his head back, kiss him hard and deep. Tinsley kissed him back, losing himself in the sensation, letting Ricky cup his face with deceiving softness. It was easy to get lost in him, just as easy as it was to lose to him. He felt the other man’s hand running up through his hair, fingers curling in it. He broke off, pressing kisses down Ricky’s chest, down along his side, his hands undoing the man’s trousers, feeling Ricky’s hips shifting as he did so. He heard the man suck a breath in through his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, I- Yeah." He breathed the words, one hand gripping Tinsley's hair as he took him in his mouth. His other hand clawed into the chair behind his shoulder. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

* * *

Holly paused outside the door, a hand raised to knock. She frowned at the sounds from inside; low, moaned curses, panted breaths. Her brows drew together, her hand raising to knock again.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

Holly glanced over her shoulder at him. “What?”

“I let the detective in five minutes ago,” said the Mayor ruefully.

“Oh bloody hell.” She turned away from the door, striding past him. He followed anyway. “And to think I used to be certain that there was no beast on this earth that could possibly match that boy's appetite.”

“I was under the impression that they’d had an argument,” said the Mayor as they descended the stairs. “It appears not.”

“Oh, they had an argument. But you know what this family is like.” She tutted, her hand brushing along the banister, silver cigarette holder already between two fingers. She’d took up the habit over the past few days, and it wasn’t going to be shaken off anytime soon. “You remember Lucy and her accursed husband. This family’s blood runs too hot to be safe.”

“Oh great.” Fran stood in the hallway to the dining room, a saucer with two slices of cucumber in one hand and a cup of chamomile tea in the other. “Well I guess I’ll be sleeping downstairs again.”

“Indeed, ma’am. They can be… quite loud.”

“Quite? They’re like bloody animals.” Holly stopped at the end of the stairs, lighting her cigarette. “I didn’t catch a wink of sleep the last night they decided to share a bed.”

“Are you going to say something?” asked Fran into her tea. “We have guests now, remember.”

“I believe Ricky is trying to distract himself,” said Holly with raised eyebrows. “An unfortunate coping mechanism. What do you think, Mayor?”

“I agree, ma’am.”

“I didn’t ask if you agree. I asked what you think.”

His mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “I believe Mr Goldsworth is living in the moment, ma’am. He’s not fond of thinking right now.”

She hummed her concurrence. “I’d say something to him, but I’m not too sure of how he’d react.”

“All I’m saying is he must be getting some incredible whoopee,” grinned Fran, giving Holly a nudge with her elbow. “Beware, Holly, for it’s the beast of two backs.”

“Insolent little wench,” muttered Holly as the other woman swanned off towards the living room. “None of it ever appealed to me, you know. The getting a husband, the, um,  _whoopee_ , but here I am anyway with two unruly children.”

The Mayor smiled a small smile. “Ma’am.”

“Lucy could handle them much better than I ever could,” replied Holly with raised eyebrows, moving towards the dining room. She could hear the Mayor’s soft footsteps behind her. “Especially Ricardo. He simply won’t listen to me about the detective. What do you think?”

The Mayor lowered his gaze, standing at the door. “I think we’ll miss Lucy very much, ma’am.”

“I don’t think I could possibly miss her more than I do already.” She sat down, gesturing at the seat beside her. The Mayor sat, brushing his hands along his trouser legs. “She had a way with them. She had a way with the people. Ricky doesn’t have such a way.”

The Mayor pressed his lips in a line, hands resting on his legs. “Sometimes I… Nevermind.”

“Don’t do that. You can say whatever you want around me.” She raised an eyebrow. “Even though I remember a certain someone disliking me when I first started working here.”

The Mayor smiled. “You took some getting used to, ma’am.”

Holly returned the smile, although more dryly. “Mm. But you were saying?”

The Mayor’s smile faltered. “Sometimes Mr Goldsworth reminds me very much of-"

"His father?"

"His grandfather."

"Ah. I see." Holly searched the butler's pensive face. "Does that concept frighten you?"

He nodded once. "It does."

"Mm. It frightens me too."

She accepted the cups of tea that a maid brought. She sipped hers. The Mayor sipped his. They sat in comfortable quiet, but for the murmured crackling of candle wicks. Holly placed her cup back down with a low _clink_.

"When did you first realize that the former Mr Goldsworth was beginning to spiral?"

The Mayor shook his head, his shoulders shrugging slightly. "I didn't, ma'am. Not until the Montepulciano family. Not until he did what he did that night."

"Did you try to stop it?"

"No, ma'am. It wasn't my place." He traced the pattern on the ceramic cup, following the swirls with a fingertip. "Lucy tried. She got down on her knees in front of the whole town and begged her own parents to stop what they were doing. But they didn't."

"Yes. I'd heard as much." She took another mouthful of tea, swallowing hard. "I knew it must have been something terrible that had happened. She wouldn't have exiled her mother for no reason."

"No, she wouldn't have."

Holly checked the watch on her wrist; it was late, half past midnight. She looked back at the Mayor. "Did you ever talk to Mrs Goldsworth again?"

"No, ma'am. I was ordered not to."

"Do you know where she currently resides?"

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Yes."

"Then... Then perhaps I could pay her a visit." Holly took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "And find out when she noticed her husband beginning to go down the wrong path."

* * *

The bed creaked as they fell onto it. Ricky stayed on top as they maneuvered themselves further onto it, their mouths barely parting for even a second, their hands running over each other, rough and selfish. Tinsley went to sit upright, to flip them, to take over as he so usually did. His brows drew together in a frown as Ricky didn't cooperate. Ricky caught hold of his wrists, holding them away.

"No." Ricky leaned forwards, pressing the man's hands back against the sheets either side of his head. "No, I'm on top tonight."

Tinsley stared into those black eyes, black and dark and deathly calm. He nodded in silence, relaxing back on the bed. He kept his lowered gaze on the other man's mouth as Ricky leaned in close, close enough for their lips to brush. He swallowed, his heart fluttering as Ricky avoided his mouth altogether and instead pressed a kiss to his neck. The feeling was heavenly, a low sigh escaping. Ricky undid the detective's tie, placing it aside before doing the same with his own. He let Tinsley sit up, pulling his shirt down off his shoulders, their mouths lingering centimetres apart. Ricky tugged his own shirt off over his head, tossing it onto the floor to join Tinsley's. The detective took hold of his waist, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his chest. His eyes opened halfway when he felt Ricky's hand take him by the jaw and tilt his head back. The words were whispered, but not quite soft.

"No, you don't get to touch me tonight."

Tinsley swallowed again, harder. He nodded. He let Ricky take hold of his wrists again, push them back to rest against the headboard. He didn't resist, didn't say a word when Ricky retrieved their ties and wrapped one around Tinsley's right wrist and the other around his left. Then Ricky sat back, admiring his handiwork with cold eyes. Tinsley felt like he should've been frightened. He wasn't. He didn't look away from Ricky's eyes as the man leaned down to speak the words quietly against his lips.

"You're going to be a different man when I'm done with you."

Tinsley gave his restraints a light tug; they were tight, painfully so. "This is your last resort, hm?"

Ricky let his fingers trail down the man's arms, over his shoulders, down his chest. He could feel the pulse skipping under his hands. "Eyes or tongue."

Tinsley hesitated at this. "What?"

Ricky repeated the options slowly, as if the taste of the words in his mouth was too sublime to let go. "Eyes... or tongue."

Tinsley's chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. "You choose."

Ricky smiled wickedly, tracing his fingers across the man's lips before slipping a finger in to rest on his tongue. "Mm. You do sound delicious when we make love, even more so when we fuck." He let a hand slip down between them, into the other man's underwear, listening to the broken moan he swiftly worked out of him. "Yeah, I like that sound. So eyes it is."

He pulled the belt off his dressing gown, pulling the dark fabric tight over Tinsley's eyes, knotting it firmly. He let his hand rest around the detective's throat, feeling the pounding pulse, feeling him swallow. Tinsley gritted his teeth as the grip tightened, pinning him down against the pillow. The headboard rattled as he automatically tried to react. His hands clenched into fists.

"You remember when you did this to me." Ricky felt the man's body struggle a bit under him, but he didn't let go. "In your office. I guess it was to try and teach me a lesson. But you don't really have a teacher's touch."

"Ricky, I-" He swallowed hard despite the hand around his neck. "I'm not- I'm not going to apologize."

Ricky smiled. It was evident in his low words. "Yes you are."

Tinsley sucked in a harsh breath as the fingers slipped off his neck. He felt the hands run down his chest, felt Ricky settle across his hips. He swallowed hard as Ricky's body fit close against his, his mouth parting, waiting for the other man's to meet it. A finger slipped in instead, Ricky's breath hot against his skin. He tilted his head back, baring his throat as Ricky pressed a kiss to it, then another, deeper. Tinsley let out a shaky breath, feeling the finger slide out of his mouth, trace lightly down his throat. Ricky captured him in a hard kiss, pushing his tongue into his mouth, his hand wrapping tight around his neck, tight enough to feel his pulse racing.

Ricky broke off to breathe the words. "You think I act like a whore, do you?" He didn't give him a chance to reply, kissing him fiercely, his hands slipping down between them to unbutton Tinsley's trousers. He sat back, tugging his own boxers down off his hips. "No whore fucks like I do, Tinsley. I promise you that." 

Tinsley bit his lip hard, struggling to stop the moan coming out as he felt the other man settle onto him. He heard his low sigh, that blissful sound that Tinsley had grown so used to. He felt Ricky's hands on his chest, fingers clawing in as he started off slow, hips moving in circles. Ricky's grin was evident in his voice.

"Now remember, Tinman. I have guests. So keep it quiet."

Tinsley ignored him, too focused on trying to stay silent. He bit hard on his lip for the tenth time that minute, his breath catching in his throat as Ricky started picking up the pace. He rested his head back against the pillow, letting out a low sigh, his fingers wrapping around the fabric of the ties. He felt the man’s hands press into his stomach for balance, heard the sharp exhale, the attempt at keeping a moan subdued. Their lips brushed, hot breaths mingling, their bodies sliding against each other. Ricky leaned back again, pressing his hands to the bed behind him, his eyes closed, mouth open as he continued grinding his hips back and forth. Tinsley gritted his teeth hard, fingers grabbing onto the headboard, nails digging in. A moan slipped out, sounding almost strangled. Ricky moved forwards, clamping a hand down on Tinsley’s mouth, but he didn’t slow. His breaths came in harsh sighs, in time with the movement of his hips, his head hanging, sweat dripping off the end of his nose to land on the other man’s chest. He slipped two fingers into Tinsley’s mouth, letting them slide out so that his tongue could take their place instead. Their mouths worked against each other, his hands running down Tinsley’s body.

“Fuck.” Ricky kept his open mouth pressed to Tinsley's, hearing the panted breaths echoing his. “Fuck, _fuck_.”

The headboard shook as Tinsley pulled forwards again, his back rising off the bed, his breath hissing through his teeth. “Ah- _Ah-”_ He turned his head aside, pushing it back into the pillow. “Fuck, oh fuck, untie me. Untie me.”

Ricky buried his face in the man’s shoulder, pressing kisses up his neck. “Why.”

“I need to touch you.” He paused for a few harsh breaths, a low whine on each one. His fists were clenched, white-knuckled. “I- I need to.”

“No.” Ricky took hold of him by the jaw, turning his head so that their mouths were inches apart. “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to even see me. Unless you say sorry.”

Tinsley pushed forwards, attempting to kiss him. He swallowed hard as the fingers dug into his cheeks. “No.”

Ricky let a smile flicker across his face before he leaned back, pushing his hips in slow circles, watching Tinsley’s fingers wrap tightly around the headboard, his arms shaking. “Fine.”

“ _Fuck_.” Tinsley moaned loud and harsh, an almost pained sound. He let his mouth open as Ricky kissed him again, savage, still riding him hard. He panted the words against his lips. “Bite me. Bite me!”

Ricky bit on his bottom lip with enough force to break the skin, tasting the blood on his tongue, metallic. He closed his teeth on the side of Tinsley’s neck, not letting go as he increased the pace of his hips, hearing the desperate moaning coming from the man’s mouth; it was a continuous sound, broken only to breathe.

“Aah- _Aaaah-_ Untie me!” He rutted his hips up off the bed, hearing the sharp inhale from Ricky, the exhaled whimper, his head falling back as he pushed down further onto him. Tinsley moaned again, louder. “ _Fuck_ , fuck you, untie me now!”

Ricky’s own hands landed on the top of the headboard, using it for leverage as he rode him rough and fast. “Ah- Ah- Not- Not until-”

“I’m sorry!” Tinsley shouted the words, pulling at his restraints. “I’m _sorry_ , you son of a- Fuck, untie me! _Please_ fucking- _Ah-_ ”

Ricky fumbled to do so, managing to undo one, Tinsley doing the other himself with vigor before yanking off the blindfold. Then he went at him with a vengeance, his mouth finding Ricky’s in a ravening kiss, taking hold of the man’s hips, fingers digging in as he pulled him down hard onto him. Their mouths slotted together, hot and wet and fierce, Ricky’s hands grappling the other man’s shoulders as he let him take over. Ricky mumbled the words between kisses.

“I want you.” Ricky let his head tilt back, his eyes fluttering closed, his neck shining with sweat. “I- I want you, I don't want anyone else, I-”

Tinsley kissed his bared throat, running his tongue over the damp skin, feeling the pulse hammering against his lips. Ricky’s hand tangled in his hair, wrenching his head back so that he could kiss him again, taste him, feel him in his mouth. They fell sideways onto the bed, wrapped around each other, Tinsley fucking him slow, feeling the man’s slick body writhing in his hands. He felt Ricky's teeth close on his skin, his own mouth opening to let out a broken moan. He kissed the side of the man's face, kissed his cheek, kissed him on his open mouth, ravaged him. There was a knock at the door.

“No!” Ricky repeated the shout, less breathless. “No! Don't come in!”

Whoever it was thankfully didn't come in. Ricky let his head rest against the bed, his mouth parted as he breathed heavily. Tinsley's face was hidden in his shoulder, hands gripping his ass hard as he continued pushing into him slow and deep. Ricky held him close, one hand running up through his hair, his head spinning. Tinsley's hands were rough but warm as they moved up his back, curling over his shoulders, close and possessive. Tinsley rolled them, pinning Ricky under him, the man's head hanging off the side of the bed, his eyes closed as he panted for breath. The phone rang, loud and shrill. Tinsley didn't pay any heed, pushing into the other man harder, letting a hand slide down to join in. Ricky's own hand fumbled blindly for a moment before striking the irritating phone off the bedside table. It clattered to the floor, falling apart.

“Ah- Ah- _Aaah-_ ” Ricky hooked his arms around the other man's shoulders, fingers clinging to him, his eyes squeezing shut. “I- I'm gonna come, Tinsley I- _Ah-_ ”

He came hard with a shuddered moan, his back rising off the bed. He heard the other man finish seconds later, melting against him, hands relaxing on the bedcovers. They lay where they were for a long while, their bodies flush against each other. Tinsley eventually rolled off him, his face red, skin shining with sweat. His thick hair was wild, sticking up in all directions. He couldn't speak for a few minutes as he caught his breath. He turned his head with a bit of effort, seeing Ricky still on his back, head hanging off the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, bared throat glistening in the low light. He eventually managed to exhale a word.

“Fuck.” Tinsley let out a hard breath, letting his forearm fall to cover his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

He felt the hand against his chest as Ricky crawled over to press a kiss to his lips, their mouths hot with the previous friction. Ricky ran a finger across the man’s bottom lip, looking at the bite marks. They were still bleeding, just a bit. Ricky touched them with his finger; they were soft and damp. He lifted his gaze to meet Tinsley’s.

“Did you mind?”

Tinsley shook his head. “No.”

Ricky kissed him again, a careful one. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

Tinsley smiled a small smile, rolling them before brushing the back of his fingers down the side of the other man’s face. “You mean did I like you tying me up?”

“Mm.”

“Yes I liked it.” He lowered his voice, watching the other man’s face. “But next time, it’s my turn.”

Ricky smiled wickedly. "Of course."

Tinsley kissed him again; he couldn't seem to help himself, and he didn't exactly try either. It was as if to make sure that it was all real, that Ricky was there with him, solid, all his, as beautiful and deadly as when he'd first met him. Tinsley had assumed that perhaps the man would grow less deadly as time went on. It appeared that he had assumed incorrectly. He felt Ricky pull away, roll out from under him. 

"I'm going for a bath." Ricky sat on the edge of the bed, shrugging on his dressing robe. He threw a sly look over his shoulder at the other man. "Hopefully not alone."

* * *

The Mayor reappeared in the parlour, his shoulders hunched quite sheepishly. "I'm afraid they won't answer the door."

The families groaned as one. Jeanne shook her head, her hair still up in curlers. Her hands seemed awfully small without her usual gloves. Laya paced back and forth in her silk slip dress, her arms folded across her chest.

"And did you ring?" she asked.

"Yes," said the Mayor, his face reddening. At first he thought the phone had been answered. Unfortunately, it had just fallen off the hook, and he heard quite a few sounds before hanging up himself. "They, um, did not answer."

"This is just awfully rude," said Jeanne, eyebrows raised. Her parents murmured their agreement. "I can't catch a wink of sleep."

"Why'd you let that lanky bastard in anyway?" demanded Junior, ignoring his father's impatient shushes. "Of course he was going to fuck him. From what I've heard, they're like damn rabbits."

"I can't comment, sir."

"Just open the door and tell them to be quiet," said Laya sharply, hands on her hips. "I'm up early, you know."

"We're all up early," said Fran, lifting a slice of cucumber off one eye to throw her a dry look. "Look, you'll all find Ricky easier to deal with if he's been, uh, _subdued_ somewhat. So just suck it up. Even Holly isn't complaining."

Jeanne raised a hand to silence them, her gaze raised and turned aside. There was no noise but for the crackling fire. "I think they've stopped."

"Hallelujah," said Branson, heaving himself to his feet. "I'm off then. See you all in the morning. I might have a nightcap before I go, Mayor."

"Oh, and I'll have a glass of water with lemon," said Jeanne as she passed him by.

"I'll need fresh towels," said Laya over her shoulder before closing the door behind the group. "And I'd like a demitasse at seven."

The Mayor stood in silence, shoulders slumped. He heard Fran shuffling past in her slippers, pausing beside him to give him a pat on the arm and some advice to cheer up. Then she went to bed.

* * *

“So you’ve never met _any_ of the rest of your family?”

“No.” Ricky spread the water up over the man’s chest, watching it trickle back down over his skin. “Not my dad. Not my grandfather. It’s strange to be told you’re similar to people you’ve never met.”

Tinsley watched the other man’s thoughtful face, his lowered gaze and slightly parted lips. “And your mom always knew you were gay.”

“I never tried to hide it.” Ricky rested his forearms over Tinsley’s shoulders, his fingers dripping water onto the bathroom floor. “She never tried to make me hide it.”

“And no one ever had an issue?”

“The old Minister did for a while. But I… sorted that out.”

Tinsley tilted his head aside, an eyebrow raised. “You killed him.”

“I killed him.”

Tinsley took a deep breath as he felt Ricky pushing up a bit further on him. The man was straddling him in the water, close and comfortable, and clearly wasn’t too shy about their location and the act he wanted to carry out. Tinsley watched his face closely.

“Is it safe to do this in water?”

“I’ve never had an issue with it.” Ricky smiled again, letting his mouth drift closer to the detective’s. “A bit uncomfortable at times, but it’s worth it.”

Tinsley tilted his head back a tad as Ricky moved ever closer. “You’re adventurous, aren’t you.”

“I like to experiment.” Ricky let his hands slide down the man’s chest, his skin hotter than the water on it. “And I like men who like to experiment. Like you.”

"Have you experimented a lot?"

Ricky gave him a wry look, head tilted aside. "Are you asking me how many men I've slept with."

Tinsley shrugged, as if he didn't care whether or not he found out. "I'm just curious."

"Well the answer is a lot." He smiled, his lowered gaze on the other man's mouth. "Couldn't you tell?"

Tinsley let the man kiss him, a heavy one, their mouths fierce against each other. Ricky always seemed to kiss with a ferocity, an insatiable hunger. Tinsley didn’t exactly mind. He pushed forwards into the kiss, feeling the hand wrap around his neck, keeping him in place. Ricky let their lips part, slowly.

“Did your parents ever find out about you?”

Tinsley nodded. “Yes.”

“And?”

“My mom was fine. My dad wasn’t.” He let Ricky kiss him again, feeling the man push up ever further onto his hips. The water swilled dangerously high around the edge of the ceramic tub. Tinsley broke off. “But I wasn’t as open about it as you are. I couldn’t be.”

“So what did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “Where did you have sex?”

Tinsley shrugged, his hands sliding under the water to grip the man’s ass. “I didn’t have a lot. Not with men. Not until I was older.”

“How old?”

“After my divorce. So twenty-five.”

Ricky pouted. “Aw.”

“Don’t ‘aw’ me.” Tinsley tilted his head back as Ricky’s hands slipped down his neck. “Not a lot of people are as lucky as you, Ricky.”

Ricky went quiet, his mouth closing. His brows drew together slightly, almost in confusion. He sat back a bit. “You’re making me sad. I didn’t invite you in here to make me sad.”

Tinsley rested his elbows on the edges of the tub. “Well sorry, sir. You asked.”

Ricky shushed him, moving forwards again. His hands gripped the back of Tinsley’s neck for balance as he settled onto him, a low sigh escaping his mouth. He bit his lip in a blissful expression, his eyes closed. Tinsley didn’t have to do much. He watched Ricky’s face growing flushed, his dark eyes fluttering, his low sighs turning to low moans as he rode him slow. He began to rock his hips harder, one hand taking hold of the edge of the tub, the other still hooked around Tinsley’s neck.

“Fuck.” He let his head fall back, baring his throat. The pleasure spread through him in irregular waves. “Fuck, you’re- No, no, don’t move. Just- _Ahhh_ , fuck.”

Tinsley gritted his teeth, taking hold of the man’s hips, forcing him to a halt. Ricky’s eyes opened, a glare on his reddened face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not a damn doll, Ricky.”

“What are you talking about?” He took told of Tinsley’s wrists, struggling to get his hands off his hips, to let him continue. “Let go. Let go, I- _Ah_ , ah, fuck.”

“You’re not going to start this. I told you already.” Tinsley’s fingers dug into the man’s hips as he felt them try to move again. Ricky’s hands grabbed hold of either side of the tub. “I’m not just here to be sat on, alright?”

Ricky’s body slid out of the water by a few inches, his eyes squeezing shut. “I- I- Okay, Okay. Let go. Let- _Ahh_.”

“Do you understand that?”

Ricky rose further out of the water; it ran down his body, slick and smooth. Tinsley devoured the sight with his eyes, but not with his mouth. Not yet. He let Ricky push down ever so slightly onto him before forcing him to a halt again. Ricky was shaking, his grip white-knuckled on the ceramic of the tub. He let out a hard moan, long and low.

“I asked you a question,” said Tinsley quietly, his teeth gritted. He let Ricky’s hips slip through his hands just a bit further, more for himself than for Ricky. “Do you understand.”

Ricky nodded, his breaths panted, his eyes still squeezed shut. His body was frozen, almost too afraid to move, to let the feeling drag out. He panted the words. “Yes- Yes, I understand, I do.”

Tinsley let him go. Ricky pressed forwards against him, wrapping his arms around his neck as he fucked him like it was his last chance. He moaned open-mouthed in the detective’s ear, high-pitched, the water swelling around their bodies. He grabbed hold of Tinsley’s shoulders, raising his body up and forwards, out of the water again, getting a better angle as he quickened the pace. He felt the fingers dragging down his back, all the way down to grab hold of his ass again. He pushed a hand through Tinsley’s damp hair, curling his fingers in it, pushing the man’s head back. Tinsley looked up at him like he was a heavenly sight, his eyes glittering hungrily before he pressed a hard kiss to Ricky’s stomach, feeling the muscles sliding against his lips.

“Ah- Aah- Oh God.” Ricky grabbed hold of the sides of the tub again as he leaned back, the water splashing out onto the wood floor. He could hear his moans being echoed now, Tinsley’s fingers clawing into him. “Yeah- Yeah- Oh fuck, fuck, _ah- Fóllame, sí, sí,_ fuck!”

The banging on the wall was almost as loud as Ricky. “SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!”

Ricky ignored Holly’s voice, his head hanging back as he teetered on the edge. He grabbed hold of Tinsley’s shoulders, unaware he was even doing so, the water splashing loudly as he rose out of it again. He pushed back down one final time, finishing with a flurry of panted breaths. He fell forwards against Tinsley, sliding down into the water. He could hear the man’s heart skipping beats in his chest, hear him gasping for air. Ricky turned his head, his open mouth pressed to Tinsley’s chest, his eyes still closed.

“Jesus Christ.” Tinsley swallowed hard, his head still spinning, his hands gripping the sides of the tub. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Ricky nodded in silence. He moved forwards, pressing his lips to Tinsley’s in a hard kiss. Tinsley took hold of him by the jaw, pushing him back a few centimetres. He shook his head, still breathless.

“You can’t be serious.”

Ricky smiled at him, still panting for air. “You’re worn out?”

“Entirely.” Tinsley shook his head in wonder. “I have never met a man - no, I’ve never met anyone - who fucks as much as you do, I swear to God.”

Ricky grinned at him. He got out of the water, taking his dressing robe and wrapping himself up in it. Tinsley followed a few minutes later, borrowing a fluffy white towel. The coolness of the bedroom compared to the bathroom was a relief. He stood on the balcony and lit a cigarette. He looked out towards the woods, a dark green sea beside the actual sea. He felt Ricky’s arms wrap around his waist, felt the man’s warm body press against his. Ricky’s voice was mumbled.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“After that performance? Absolutely not.” Tinsley let the shorter man wriggle under his arm, close. “I understand, Ricky. And maybe I overreacted.”

“Okay.” Ricky rested his chin on the taller man’s chest, smiling up at him in a surprisingly demure manner. “You won’t ever leave me, will you?”

Tinsley finally looked right into his eyes, and his own smile faltered slightly at the hard edge to the look. “I like to think I won’t.”

Ricky pursed his lips at this, mulling the answer over. It seemed satisfactory for the moment. “Kiss me.”

Tinsley kissed him. He kissed him hard, as hard as Ricky always kissed him. The only way Ricky ever kissed him. The shorter man slipped away back into the room. Tinsley stayed on the balcony in the pitch black night, and thought about how he’d never felt Ricky’s lips touch his gently.


	5. Breakfast

_The grass was spongy under his feet. It was a pleasant feeling that he didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate. He was running, his footsteps pounding the grass and the moss that lay under it. He wasn’t sure what he was running from, but it was terrifying, more terrifying than anything he’d ever encountered in his life. The gravestones flew by either side, pale milk white in the dusk. He let out another frightened cry, hearing the snarling behind him, the snapping of fangs, of a bloody maw. He threw a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, seeing the figure dragging itself around another gravestone, half-crawling in its determination to get him. The man’s suit was shredded, his shirt stained with blood such a deep red it was black._

_“No.” Ricky’s voice was mumbled as he ran. He could see the building looming out of the fog, as if it was coming towards him, and not him towards it. “No no no no. Please no.”_

_“Ricky.” His father’s voice was grated like stone against steel. “My son. Mine.”_

_Ricky fell up the steps to the manor, scrambling in the door. He tried to close it, pushing at it with everything he had. His hands slipped against the wood, slick with sweat. It wouldn’t budge. He backed away as his father crawled up the steps to the hall, moving with unnatural jerks. The blood swung thick from his jaw._

_“Get away from me.” Ricky took the stairs two at a time; they were dusty, cobwebs between the banisters. Everything was two shades too grey. “Mamá! Mamá, help!”_

_The paintings along the walls were twice as large as they usually were, each Goldsworth looking down on this imposter. Ricky shielded his eyes from them, ashamed at the fact that he wasn’t who he said he was, that he’d never been who he said he was. He was someone else. He skidded to a halt beside his mother’s bedroom door, banging his fists on it._

_“Mamá! Mamá, please let me in!” He could hear the wet snarling as his father drew closer. He hid his face against the door, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut as the tears leaked out. “Someone-"_

"Hey. Hey!" Tinsley shook him awake, his concerned face inches away. "Are you alright?"

Ricky stared at him with wary eyes, his face still half-hidden in his pillow. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his breaths trembling. "What?"

"You were dreaming." Tinsley brushed a hand across the man's forehead, eyebrows raising. "Christ, Ricky. Are you ill?"

"No."

"You're burning up." Tinsley sat upright beside him, a hand on his shoulder. The duvet was a ball where Ricky was curled up under it. "Are you sure you're not sick?"

"I'm sure."

Tinsley looked at his face, at the fear making it seem older, tauter. "What were you dreaming about?"

Ricky swallowed hard, pushing himself upright. The sheets were damp under him. "I don't know."

"Are you sure?" Tinsley brushed a hand through the man's dark hair, pushing it off his face. "You can tell me."

Ricky looked aside, swallowing hard. "I can't remember."

He could remember. He could remember it all in vivid detail; he was having it every night, every time he closed his eyes. He waved Tinsley's comforts aside, getting out of the bed and pulling on his dressing robe. He crossed to the balcony and lit a cigarette. He didn't turn around, even as he heard Tinsley get out of the bed and leave the room. He looked down at where the woods met the sea; the froth was grey in the night. It was a warm night. He hugged himself.

* * *

Tinsley stood at the sink in the kitchen, looking out at the gardens. The stables stood to one side. He could see misty breath coming from them; a horse or two. He’d always loved horses. He wandered out the door, crossing the grass to them, hugging Ricky’s shirt tighter around him. He heard the low whinny, saw a black shape moving in the nearest of the two stalls. Its eyes were big and soft and shiny. Tinsley smiled at it. It didn’t smile back. It was a horse, after all.

“Aren’t you a big fella?” He gave it a soft pat on the nose; it nuzzled into him. “Huh. Maybe that’s why I like horses so much. Common ground.”

“I’d say so.”

He whipped around, closing his eyes and sighing sharply at the intruder. “Christ. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Laya smiled at him, her arms folded as she leaned against the entrance to the small wooden building. Her robe was black as the night around her, and brushed the ground as she moved. “I’m surprised you’re even out of Ricky’s bed, from what I could hear.”

Tinsley eyed her sidelong. “It took a bit of effort, I suppose.”

“I’d say it did.” She pushed off the doorway, wandering towards him. She was barefoot, but she didn’t seem to care. “Maybe you’re looking for something else, hm?”

He held his glass of water in both hands. “Meaning?”

“Well, men and women give you different types of satisfaction, don’t they?”

“I never noticed.” He didn’t move away as she came ever closer. “My appetite for women isn’t what it used to be.”

“Do I need to guess why?” She smiled again, a sly curl at the corner of her mouth. “I think you’re just kidding yourself, brown eyes. Orgasms do that to you.”

Tinsley didn’t move as she laid a hand on his chest. His voice was low. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Why?” She pushed up on her tiptoes; still, she couldn’t quite reach his mouth. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” He tilted his chin up, putting more space between their lips. “But if Ricky came out right now, I’d probably stand aside.”

“Right.” She lowered herself off her tiptoes, her hands brushing down his waist. “As a matter of interest, who fell first? You or Ricky?”

He shrugged, stepping around her. She followed silently. “It was more complicated than that.”

“Ah. So you fell first. Just like all the rest.”

He stopped in the doorway to the dark kitchen, throwing her a look over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the way it always works, from what I’ve heard.” She slipped past him, swanning towards the door to the hall. “Ricky uses many weapons, detective.” She stopped in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame as she threw a smirk over her shoulder. “But his most dangerous one is between his legs.”

Tinsley stood in the kitchen for a while after she left. He wasn’t too sure what she’d meant. He didn’t know anyone else in the town who’d been with Ricky, apart from that waiter. He sipped at his water until he’d sipped it into nonexistence. Then he went back into the manor.

He was stopped halfway across the hall. The man emerged from the living room like a lion from a cage, the shadows falling across his handsome face. His teeth seemed to gleam in his mouth. Tinsley attempted to ignore him, but they were on a direct trajectory to collide. Junior pushed his shoulder into Tinsley’s, forcing him to a stop. He ignored Tinsley throwing his eyes to the heavens.

“Well, detective. We haven’t been formally introduced yet.” Junior grabbed hold of his hand, just a bit too tight to be comfortable. Tinsley narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m an heir too. Same as little Ricky.”

“That’s very interesting.” He didn’t look away from his eyes. “You can let go of my hand now.”

Junior ignored him, fixing his fingers more firmly around Tinsley’s as he felt him try to pull away. “What’s your deal, pal? Just hanging around for fun? You might as well head down to a brothel.”

“That would mean I’d have to pay,” said Tinsley quietly. “I never pay.”

“You’re too slick, are you?”

“I’ve just never had to.” Tinsley flexed his fingers in Junior’s grip, his hand lax. “You can let go of my hand now. Unless you’re going to whip out a ring and propose.”

Junior let go of him instantly with a tut. “You should start being nicer, detective. Or you won’t be allowed stick around when this place swaps hands.”

Tinsley looked down his nose at him, sidelong. “You really think you’ll be able to get Ricky out of this place?”

“That’s always been the plan, detective. I’d drag him out by his hair, given the chance.”

“He won’t give you any such chance.”

Junior grinned nastily at him, his eyes a venomous green. “I don't wait for chance."

Tinsley didn’t seem all too impressed. “Alright. Well, whenever you decide to act on this bravado, do let me know. I'll make sure to call you an ambulance beforehand."

He stepped around him, continuing on up the stairs. After a few seconds he heard Junior tut before crossing the hall to the dining room. His footsteps were unabashedly loud. Tinsley pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d never met so many people who had been put on this earth to do nothing but be rotten. As if her cue had been called, Jeanne’s head poked out of the parlour. She smiled her ceramic smile. Her hair was still up in curlers, each wrapped to within a centimetre of perfection.

“Oh, wonderful!” She extended a hand to him as he passed, palm up. “Care to join me for a midnight schnapps, detective?”

“Schapps?”

“Mm.” She nodded eagerly. “Strawberry. I had the Mayor travel out to get it specially.”

He inclined his head. “What? When?”

“Oh, about an hour or so ago.”

“It’s half three in the morning.”

She nodded, seeming a bit puzzled as to why he stated such a fact. “Yes. I know.”

Tinsley stared at her for a moment. He wondered how the Mayor hadn’t flung himself from the nearest balcony after his fifty or so years of doing good for bad people. “I might pass. I’m tired.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She took hold of his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly steely. “I insist.”

He looked down at where her white fingers were around his wrist. He looked back at her, an eyebrow arched. “You’re not going to try and seduce me, are you? I think I’ve had enough of that for one night.”

She blushed furiously at the suggestion. It was a gesture she could seemingly call to hand at a second’s notice. “Heavens no! I simply want to discuss some issues with you.”

“What issues.”

Tinsley turned his head at the icy voice, his gaze landing on Ricky’s. He tugged his wrist out of Jeanne’s hand. She seemed frozen to the spot.

“What issues,” repeated Ricky, tying his robe more firmly around his waist as he came further into the light from the parlour. “Please, do explain them to me in excruciating detail.”

She blinked, retreating halfway behind the door. “Nothing important.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind telling me.”

“Leave her alone, would you?” Laya paused beside them on the way down the corridor. She brushed her hair back off her shoulder as she gave Ricky a contemptuous once-over. “She just wanted to have a friendly conversation. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Ricky turned his narrowed eyes to her. Then he smiled, altogether quite slyly. He moved to Tinsley, pressing his body up against his before wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and drawing him down into a heated kiss,  pushing his tongue into Tinsley’s mouth. The detective let out a low grunt, his own hand slipping through Ricky’s black hair, pulling him up into the kiss, his other arm wrapping around the man’s waist. Ricky let their lips part slowly, his hand sliding down from Tinsley’s neck to rest on his chest. He smiled over his shoulder, seeing Laya close her mouth with her eyes narrowing into hateful slits. She strode past them. Jeanne had already vanished into the parlour, and probably out the other side. Tinsley wiped his hand across his mouth, his gaze lowered.

“I don’t like you doing that.”

“Hm?” Ricky wrapped his arms around the taller man’s neck, keeping their bodies flush together. “You don’t like me kissing you?”

“Not for the reason you just did,” muttered Tinsley, beginning to head back towards the bedroom. Ricky stayed flush against him, wandering playfully backwards. “I told you, I’m not going to become known as-”

“-my honey,” finished Ricky with a smile, slipping his hands around one of Tinsley’s as he led him back into the bedroom. “I’d be _your_ honey, you know.”

“Mm.”

Tinsley looked down at him with heavy lids as the man brought Tinsley’s hand to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to it. Ricky’s hands were soft and warm as he turned Tinsley’s arm, pressing the kisses along the inside of his wrist, up along the inside of his forearm. Tinsley watched, his heart skipping in his chest. He tucked a finger under Ricky’s chin, tilting his head back. He murmured the words.

“You’re devilishly sweet, Mr Goldsworth. But you’re not exactly ‘honey’ material.”

Ricky pushed his head into Tinsley’s hand, pouting. “I could be.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Tinsley brushed a finger along the shorter man’s jaw. “I want you to be you.”

Ricky smiled at this, his eyes sparkling. He turned away, crossing to the table and pouring two drinks for them. He added ice to one, stirring it with a lazy finger. He followed Tinsley to the balcony, handing him his drink. He accepted a cigarette, letting the detective light it for him. Then he leaned against Tinsley, resting his head on his chest.

"Do you like it here?"

Tinsley looked out over the gardens, the sea, the woods, so many shades of black. "It has its pros and cons."

"What are the cons?"

"Too many to count."

"And the pros?"

Tinsley looked down at him, at that darling face. "You."

Ricky smiled surprisingly shyly, raising his shoulder as he turned his head back to rest against the taller man's chest. "You're a charmer."

"I know."

* * *

It was bright and early. The Mayor waited until the last of the maids had left the dining room set before he moved to the bells along the wall. It had been a long time since he had had to ring them, a different one for each room. The family had shrank so rapidly over the years, from a household of eight to a household of four in mere days, it felt. And only one Goldsworth now. He rang Ricky's bedroom first before ringing the others. Then he stood by the door and waited.

Holly appeared in minutes, her long grey coat on. She was drawing her gloves over her hands.

"You said out past the beach, yes?"

The Mayor nodded. "Yes, ma'am. There's a small laneway ten miles past. It might look overgrown, but I'm sure she's still there."

Holly nodded, buttoning up her coat. She brushed it off as if there was even a speck of dust on it. "I'm assuming she wasn't a very nice woman."

"No, ma'am. She wasn't."

Holly hummed pensively as she strode towards the door in her sensible heels. "What a way to start a Sunday morning."

She threw a dry look at the two figures who had appeared at the top of the stairs. Tinsley was dressed, fixing his tie loosely around his collar as he looked at her. Ricky was not dressed. The belt around his waist was barely holding the robe closed as he stretched in such a lackadaisical manner it was bordering on obnoxious. Holly tutted.

"At least you had the decency to wear underwear this time, Ricky."

Ricky grinned at her, hands linking behind his head. "Where are you off to on this fine morning?"

She opened the door, speaking over her shoulder before closing it. "I'm not too sure yet."

Ricky led the way into the dining room, lighting a cigarette as he sauntered by the Mayor, who subtly waved the fumes away from his clothing. He was a butler, he wasn't meant to be noticeable in any way, and smelling of any smell in particular was detrimental to this cause. Tinsley ran a hand through his hair as he observed the table, with all its silverware and white linen. 

"Any seats in particular?"

"This is no man's land, Tinsley." Ricky sat down in the nearest chair, sitting at an angle. "Just sit."

Tinsley sat. He accepted the cup of coffee that the Mayor placed in front of him. He needed it, and he had a feeling the Mayor knew this. The others filed down gradually, each as unbothered as the next. Jeanne was swallowed in a fluffy white dressing robe, her candy-pink sleeping masking resting atop her head. Laya followed, still wrapped up in her black robe. She sat across from Tinsley with a smile before pulling the robe just a tad looser at the top, revealing something lacy and black under it. Tinsley averted his gaze into his coffee as he took a mouthful. Ricky's voice was muttered.

"Slut."

Jeanne spluttered into her tea. "What did you just say?"

"He called me a slut," said Laya, picking up her fork and letting the four points tap down against her plate, repeatedly. "Pot and kettle, hm?"

"Must run in the family." Junior took the seat across from Ricky, yanking it back so he could sit. His white pajama t-shirt clung to him in all the right places. Tinsley narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you say, little Ricky? You let your half-sister move in with you? Must be lonely up here."

"I'm fine," said Ricky icily. "Now shut up and eat the food I'm so kindly supplying you with."

“The food is delightful,” said Jeanne’s mother. Her voice was the wind.

“Quite,” agreed her father. He may as well have whispered.

“Who cooks?” said Laya flatly, helping herself to some fresh pastries. “I doubt you’ve ever even boiled a kettle yourself.”

“The cook cooks,” replied Ricky just as flatly. “It’s in the name.”

“Very witty,” said Junior, watching Ricky across the table. “The detective is rubbing off on you, hm? Literally and mentally.”

Tinsley choked on his food, bringing his handkerchief to his mouth as he spluttered a bit. Ricky didn’t seem as shy. He rested his elbow on the table, knife in a languid hand.

“You’re very interested in my private life. Curious, are you?”

“Aren’t we all?” said Laya, buttering her croissant. She turned her gaze to Tinsley. “How’d you tame him, brown eyes? A whip, perhaps?”

Tinsley rubbed at his nose, avoiding her eyes. “Hm?”

“He’s a madman,” said Junior bluntly. “What’s he like in bed? Rabid, I’d say. Lots of teeth."

“I have to admit, I’m quite surprised you aren’t covered in casts,” said Jeanne, smiling sweetly over her spoonful of yoghurt at him. “We all heard about the waiter, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” said Tinsley firmly. Well, as firmly as he could around a mouthful of toast. “So maybe we could talk about more appropriate things.”

“You think he’s wild?” Laya winked at him. “Wait till you have me, brown eyes.”

“The only thing he’ll have of you is your head on a fucking platter,” spat Ricky, his fierce gaze stuck to her. “Courtesy of me.”

“How did you two even happen?” said Junior, pointing his knife at Ricky. “He seems a bit too calm for you, Ricky.”

“It happened because I wanted it to happen,” said Ricky, stabbing at his own breakfast. He wasn't eating at all. “Everything I want to happen happens. Keep that in mind.”

“I heard you last night,” said Jeanne with raised eyebrows, taking a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice. “I thought it was coming from the woods outside. I’ve never heard two people… sound like that.”

“It’s called a good fuck, Jeanne,” said Laya with a grin. “To be honest, I’m just jealous.”

Tinsley kept his eyes stuck to the tablecloth, face reddening. He could see Ricky still stabbing at his food out of the corner of his eye, hard enough for the plate to rattle. Jeanne blinked her big blue eyes, innocent.

“Were one of you in trouble? You kept shouting to be untied.”

“Drop the act, Jeanne,” said Ricky cuttingly. “It’s no use around here.”

“And it was  _him_  that was tied up,” said Junior out loud to himself, pointing his fork in the vague direction of Tinsley. “I wouldn’t have put you on the receiving end, but-”

“I’m not on the receiving end,” said Tinsley coolly, coffee halfway to his mouth. “But I’m not always in the mood to be in control. Now if you don’t mind, we should-”

“So you’re both pals again, hm?” asked Laya, dark brows arched. “Lovers? Because if so, I want a different room when we shack up for the wonderful wedding. I don’t want to hear the sound of a man being murdered at four in the morning."

“How about the sound of  _you_  being murdered,” spat Ricky, eyes narrowed in hateful black slits.

“Don’t threaten your sister,” said Junior with a smarmy smile.

“Fuck you.”

“Let’s all just relax a second,” said Tinsley, giving the man beside him a wary look as he placed his fork down. “None of us want bloodshed here, alright?”

“Speak for yourself,” said Jeanne brightly, smiling at him. “You know, it’s a bit of a past time for us. A tradition, really. Just let Bill teach little Ricky some manners."

“I don’t think Bill would find that so easy now,” said Tinsley slowly, looking at the man from under his lashes. One hand was under the table, gripping Ricky’s. Ricky was holding his back so tightly it hurt. “So maybe tell Bill to reevaluate the situation.”

“Oh I think go right ahead,” said Laya, sucking some jam off the tip of her index finger. “Nothing like a fistfight to finish off a good meal, hm?” She let her gaze travel down Tinsley. “A fistfight or perhaps something more pleasurable.”

“You know, I always wondered,” began Junior, wiping his hands clean with the napkin provided. “What happened exactly to your dad? We all knew he was bashing your mom around, but then-”

He didn’t need to finish his insult. Tinsley took his hand off Ricky’s without hesitation, and Ricky threw himself across the table like a wild animal. Cutlery smashed against delf. Ricky’s fist smashed against Junior’s teeth, splitting his knuckles instantly. He didn’t care. He and Junior tumbled out of the chair, entangled, Ricky cursing and spitting and raining punches down on the other man. Tinsley got to his feet, but he didn’t join in with the shouting and the cheering, or even with Jeanne’s parents and their panicked cries. He just watched, watched the power in Ricky’s shoulders as he swiftly turned the other man to a bloody pulp. He didn’t seem to feel any blows that hit him. He was just focused on tearing Junior to shreds. Tinsley moved around the table slowly, his quiet eyes stuck to Ricky and the splatters of blood starting to stain his shirt, his skin, the rug below them. Jeanne and Laya weren’t laughing now; they were struggling to even get within touching distance of Ricky, recoiling as he turned and bared his teeth at them, savage, his eyes wide and white in a bloodied face. Tinsley spoke the name once, and spoke it quietly.

“Ricky.”

The man paused, his shoulders rising and falling hard with each breath. He turned his wild eyes to Tinsley, still crouched over the unconscious Junior, hands pressed to the floor. His knuckles shone with blood. Jeanne and Laya looked horrified, Jeanne’s parents had long scarpered. Tinsley didn’t take his gaze from Ricky’s. He was fixated entirely.

“That's enough."

Ricky's head inclined at this, like a confused dog. He sat back on his knees, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling slowly. Tinsley's eyes flickered to Jeanne and Laya, as if he'd just remembered that they were there. Then he just turned on his heel and left the room. Ricky scrambled to follow.

"My word." Jeanne stood beside Junior, her hands linked at her waist as she peered down at him. "Bill? Are you alright?"

"Does he look alright?" Laya picked up an apple from the centre of the table, biting into it with vigor before calling for the Mayor. "Get rid of this, would you? Ruins an appetite."

The Mayor looked at the unconscious body on the floor. He didn't seem fazed. In fact, it was the most normal thing to happen in the last twenty-four hours. "Of course, ma'am."

Fran finally entered the dining room, slowing in wrapping up her tie. "Well, I missed out on some action, did I?"

"Mm." Laya sat down, crossing her legs out in front of her. The robe fell aside. "Looking to make up for it, are you?"

Fran looked her over, considering it. Then she turned to the table, pouring herself a coffee. "I'll pass. Thanks."

Laya grinned wickedly. The apple crunched as she bit into it again. "I like this place. I've really fallen in love with it."

"Blah blah blah." Fran went and stood beside her, right beside her bared legs. "You getting paid a penny for every word you speak, hm?"

"If only." She gave her a long look from under her lashes as Fran sat down beside her, the two of them facing each other in the seats. "What about you, Francesca Norris? What do you get paid for?"

"Oh, you know." She let a hand drift out distractedly, watching from over her coffee cup as he slipped her fingers between Laya's legs, just above the knees. "This and that. Bits and bobs."

Laya let her legs uncross as the hand advanced upwards. "Mm?"

"And something else too. Oh, what was it." Fran let her hand slip all the way along the inside of her thighs, and she wasn't too surprised to find a lack of undergarments. "Oh, yes. How could I forget." She leaned forwards, speaking the words quietly against Laya's ear. "Killing people the Goldsworths take a dislike to."

She leaned back with a bright smile, taking her hand from Laya's leg and giving her a pat on the arm before getting to her feet and sauntering out of the room. Laya sat in silence, her eyes narrowed evilly. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" hissed Jeanne, leaning forwards. "You can't seduce either of them? Is this a joke?"

"I'm working on it," said Laya in an equally hissed voice. "Give me some time. And God damnit, are they really starting again? This early?" She got to her feet, fixing her robe around her with an indignant scowl. "I'm going to get dressed. Damnit."

* * *

The contents of the fridge rattled wildly as they stumbled against it, their mouths glued, their moans unrestrained and untamed. Tinsley pressed the shorter man back against it, hands running over him, pulling the dressing robe off him with impatient tugs, their mouths hardly leaving each other. Ricky panted for air as he was swiftly maneuvered against the nearest counter, reaching out behind him to swipe the surface clear as Tinsley shoved him up into it, impatient. Tinsley pulled his tie off, throwing it aside. It landed in the sink. He didn't care. All he cared about in that moment was Ricky, and how he felt in his hands, and how he tasted on his tongue. He couldn't get enough.

Ricky hooked his arms around the other man's neck, pushing his hips up onto him, their mouths pushing against each other. He barely managed to mumble the words out. "Take me now. Now. _Now,_ Tinsley!"

The detective fumbled to unbuckle his belt, panted breaths hot against the other man's mouth. He fell forwards against the counter, one hand landing on the surface to stay balanced. He felt Ricky's hand slide under his shirt collar to claw into his back, letting out a sharp hiss of pain. He grabbed hold of Ricky's hips, pulling them forwards with such fervour the other man fell back onto his elbows with a gasp, an almost indignant look on his face when Tinsley's hand took hold of him by the throat and pinned him down properly against the counter top. This indignation was swiftly forgotten in minutes, Ricky's hands grabbing hold of the edge of the counter over his head, his face growing flushed, his curses growing breathless. His back arched off the table, he felt Tinsley's hands fix around his waist, holding him like so, fingers digging into his skin. The jug of water at the edge of the table tumbled off, shattering on the tiles. Neither of them cared. Tinsley pulled the other man upright against him, their bodies flush together, Ricky's hands grabbing hold of his collar and tearing his shirt open, tugging it down off his shoulders, the fabric catching around the man's elbows. Ricky kissed his neck, kissed his chest, wrapping himself tighter around him with such urgency it knocked him off balance. Tinsley stumbled back to the floor, hitting against the counter opposite, Ricky's mouth finding his before they'd even settled.

"Ricky, Ricky, go easy, go-" His head hit back against the cupboard door with the ferocity of Ricky's kiss, his hands barely able to keep hold of the man's hips. He heard the cutlery rattling as Ricky's hand grabbed hold of the drawer, yanking it halfway out. "Christ, Ricky, I- Fuck, I'm gonna-"

"Don't," panted Ricky, letting out a hard moan as he grabbed hold of the edge of the counter above them, nails digging in. A few forks clattered to the tiles beside them. "Don't come. Not yet, not- God, fuck. _Fuck_. Tinsley, _don't_."

Tinsley pushed his head back against the cupboard, his eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted. He moaned; it scraped out of his throat. "Slow- Slow _down_ I can't fucking- Aah- _Aaaah_ -"

Ricky fell back, his hands pressed to the tiles behind him, his hips still grinding in circles, hard and fast. The blood still shone along his fingers. "Don't, don't, oh _God_ , don't fucking come I swear to-"

He caught hold of the detective's wrists, driving them against the cupboard above the man's head. Ricky pressed his open mouth to the side of Tinsley's neck, pausing before biting down hard. Tinsley let out a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut, but he didn't pull away. Not that he could.

“Fuck.” It was his voice that was louder now, growing rougher as Ricky smothered his neck in vicious kisses. He let the other man have him entirely, riding him so hard it was violent. The cupboard complained with the pressure of their bodies against it. “Fuck, R- Ricky I- I'm gonna-”

Ricky let a smile spread onto his face as he heard the other man come, heard the rough moan in his ear, felt the fingers dig into him desperately hard. They stayed where they were for a few minutes, pressed close as they caught their breath. Ricky kept the smile on his face as Tinsley pushed himself up to look him in the eye. The detective didn't speak. He lowered his gaze to Ricky's mouth, but he didn't kiss him. He just closed his eyes, letting out a sharp breath.

Ricky pushed himself to his feet, fetching his boxers and his robe. He got back into them, smiling at Tinsley, who still sat on the ground as he buckled himself back up. The man looked exhausted, his face shiny with sweat, cheeks reddened. Ricky retrieved the tie from the sink, handing it to Tinsley once the detective forced himself to his feet again.

Ricky grinned. "Not too shabby."

Tinsley gave him a wry look, snatching back his tie. "You're too kind."

* * *

She closed over her car door quietly behind her. It was a quiet place, out past the beach, far past the border of town and into the territory adjacent. It was nestled in the shrubs. Holly smoothed down her grey coat, looking down the overgrown road that led to the neat, whitewash house. Birds were flitting in and out of the roof. It was very rustic altogether.

“You better have been right, James,” she muttered to herself as she began down the laneway. But who was she kidding? The Mayor was always right.

The front door was hidden behind overgrown foliage. It was probably the brightest of greens in the sun, but the sun wasn't out on this morning. It was a morning that already felt like night. The door, however, was still a brilliant red. She raised a gloved hand and knocked thrice. She almost felt the house go still. Then there came a pompous male voice.

“Yes?”

Holly cleared her throat, moving closer to the door. “My name is Holly Horsley. I'm here to talk to Mrs Goldsworth.”

There was a murmured conversation. “She's not in.”

“It's quite important,” said Holly, her eyebrows raised. “It involves her grandson.”

Another murmured conversation. “She doesn't care.”

“Oh let me in, you bloody fool.” She knocked on the door again. “It's about her late husband too.”

The low conversation was quicker this time. “Bear with me.”

The door was drawn open, a tad unsteady in its hinges. A man of about equal age to Holly stood in traditional butler's garb. He inclined his head.

“Holly Horsley, you say?”

“I say.”

He nodded, stepping aside. “Come in then.”

She ducked under the low door frame, straightening up again in the hallway. The house smelt old and worn. A radio crackled somewhere. The floorboards were unpolished and dusty. She raised an eyebrow at the butler. He raised an eyebrow back.

“I'll have some tea,” she said, beginning to track down the radio.

“The kettle is in the kitchen,” he replied, readjusting his glasses on his nose. “Teabags are in the pot labelled _tea_.”

She blinked at him. “You are a butler?”

“Oh, by title.”

He took a tin of cigarettes from his pocket as he simply turned on his heel and took leave. Holly stood in silence, her glasses sliding down her nose as her brows raised. She continued on towards the radio.

A woman sat in the kitchen. Her hair perhaps had once been blonde. It was now a wiry grey. She was by the window in a wooden chair, a blanket across her lap. Her hands were thin and withered. Her nose was sharp and pointed. She looked at Holly with eyes that were much too young for the face they were in. Holly remained in the doorway, both hands holding her handbag strap.

“Mrs Goldsworth?”

The woman grumbled a response. Holly took this as a yes.

“I'm here to ask a few questions about your late husband,” she said, taking a step into the room. It was small but neat. “Alejandro.”

The woman took a matchstick from her pocket. She struck it against her thumbnail; it lit up. She put it to the cigarillo in her mouth. “What are you? Police?”

“No. Not police.”

“My husband causing trouble even from his grave, is he?”

“No.”

“Then I can't fathom why you're here.” She spoke with a heavy Brooklyn accent. She raised a nonexistent eyebrow in a lined face. “Well? Why are you here, Grey Lady?”

Holly inclined her head. “I'm the private secretary to the Goldsworths now. I was wondering when you began to notice that Alejandro had… changed.”

“You're the secretary now?” The woman finally raised a wizened hand. “C'mere. I can usually tell if people got guts from a look.”

Holly reluctantly moved forwards. She observed Elizabeth Goldsworth. She didn't look much like Lucy. Perhaps it was the age. Or perhaps it was the bitter twist to her mouth, the hard glint in her beady eyes. Holly raised her chin.

“Tell me,” said Elizabeth slowly. “Is that bloody butler still alive and kicking?”

Holly considered the tone of the question; she decided she didn't like it. “He's alive anyway.”

“The way of the world,” muttered the old lady, shaking her head stiffly. “The way of the world. Really ruins your head, don't it.”

Holly nodded. “Yes.”

“Well sit then, I guess.” Elizabeth suddenly raised her voice; her lungs hadn't aged with her, it had appeared. “HEY GREG, GET THE LADY TEA!”

His reply was distant and shouted too. “I'M ON BREAK!”

“YOU'RE ALWAYS ON FUCKING BREAK!” She lowered her voice again, sighing sharply. “If my legs were what they used to be, I'd clap him around the head. Son of a bitch.”

Holly pressed her lips together in a line, if only not to smile. “I'd believe that.”

“Now, my husband. Alejandro. Feisty feisty feisty, always was.”

“That sounds about right.”

“But you're wondering when he started being less feisty and more crazy, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Well I can't pinpoint it, Grey Lady.” She pulled on her cigarillo, her cheeks sinking in. “He used to, eh, he used to get this look in his eyes whenever we'd be about to get under the sheets, you know what I'm sayin’? Real nice-lookin’. Angry, but I liked it. Oh, I miss him some nights.” She exhaled sharply, going quiet for a moment. “But I suppose I can say it started gettin’ less angry and more bloodthirsty, yeah? Still I liked it. I really liked it.”

Holly nodded again, as if she even understood in the slightest. “...Yes.”

“But what's it all to you, huh? Why'd you wanna know?”

“His grandson is in the manor now. Many people say they're alike.” She tilted her head from side to side, rolling her thoughts around inside her skull. “He has violent tendencies, usually a bit misplaced, but never quite horrifying. But I think he has the capability to do something truly… evil.”

“Evil? You talkin’ about what we did to that family?” Elizabeth leaned forwards, grinning the words. “They stepped outta line. We had to put 'em back in line. Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Necessary evil. That's a thing, yeah? Outcomes justifies deed, all that.” Elizabeth spat; it hit the wall. “If I hadn't got him to do what he did, you wouldn't be lookin’ after no grandson.” She took another pull on her cigarette. “What's he like, eh? Lucy or her damned husband?”

Holly looked aside, gaze lowered. “George.”

“I told her from the start,” said Elizabeth, rapping the arm of her chair with her knuckle. “He's no good. No good. Toss him out. Get rid of the prick. You think she'd listen? She never listened.”

“She listened when she had to.” Holly raised her hand in a small gesture, a sweep aside. “She had morals. That's what's important.”

Elizabeth snorted, an unpleasant sound. “She exiled her own mother when her father passed. Kicked me out to live in this dump.” She hit at the wall; she couldn't quite reach, and didn't try too hard either. “Morals my ass. Where'd they go, anyway?”

“Where did what go?”,

“Her morals. You said she had morals.” The woman puffed on her cigarillo; the brown paper crinkled. “George swept 'em away, eh?”

Holly stayed frozen in place, in the middle of the kitchen. Her eyes were unblinking. “...How long ago did you have to leave the town?”

“Thirty years. Around about.” An irritated mutter. “Right after Al's funeral. No hesitation.”

Holly looked aside, her grip tightening on her bag. She picked up a chair and carried it over. She sat down, brushing down her coat over her legs. When she raised her gaze to the woman's, the sharp edge was gone. They looked afraid. Holly swallowed hard.

“George died, Mrs Goldsworth.”

This seemed to be a relief. The woman nodded. “Good riddance. How?”

Holly smiled wryly. “The bloody butler.”

“Of course. Tch, of course.”

Holly's smile withered. She wrung her gloved hands, picking at the fabric. “And- And Lucy passed, Mrs Goldsworth. A week ago today. Cancer in her lungs.”

The woman's relief faded as quickly as it had come. She looked at the floor in front of her, her old face slackening. But she didn't cry. She didn't move at all, in any way. Then she said: “All of them. I've outlived all of them. I'm the last.”

“Your grandson, Ricky-”

“Not a Goldsworth,” mumbled Elizabeth, still numbed by the blow. “George's. Not any of my business.”

Holly decided to try. She decided to try at least once. “He's alone, Mrs Goldsworth. Terribly alone. And he-”

“Not my business,” repeated the woman icily. She sucked on her cigarillo. “If anything I'd say take the name off him. He's not worthy of it. He's George's.”

“No. No, Lucy was adamant-”

“Lucy was a fool in all the wrong ways,” said Elizabeth sharply. “Emotional, empathetic. A fool. A fool in life and in death. And-”

Holly got to her feet so suddenly the woman's sentence froze in the air. “Lucy was loved. By everyone. By every single person she met. Her funeral had the whole town in attendance, and those from outside too.” She leaned in to hiss some last words. “Who will be at your funeral? Not a soul. I doubt even your useless butler will bother arranging one.”

She left without looking back once. Only when she was outside did she allow herself to take a few calming breaths. She looked up at the clouds creeping thick across the sky.

“Oh, Lucy. I'm not doing too well at all, am I.”


	6. A Demon, A Devil, A Doll

She had woken up. Immediately, the day must start. She uncurled herself from the end of the bed, giving a little stretch, her claws catching in the grey fabric of the duvet. Then she lifted her tail and wandered up the bed to where the Grey Woman slept. She batted her face with a paw. After no response, she batted it again. The Grey Woman groaned.

“Oh not now, Victoria. It can't be morning.”

Victoria batted at her face again, a bit harder this time. It was morning and she was hungry. The Grey Woman must awake now.

“Oh fine! Fine!” The woman's hand reached out to fumble her glasses from the bedside table before pushing them into her face. Then she sat upright, picking the cat up and placing it on her lap for a quick pet. “You're a determined little lady, aren't you?”

“Mrrawh.”

“Quite.” The Grey Woman swung her legs out of bed and placed them in her slippers before standing up and shuffling towards the door. “Stop running. You're going to make me fall, and at this age I don't know if I'll be getting back up.” She continued mumbling to herself. "Maybe I'd prefer that. This morning is going to be quite unpleasant, I believe."

The door was cracked open. Freedom fell in. Victoria wriggled out the second the door was wide enough before racing down the hallway for a morning exercise routine. The set of doors further down was open, and from it came low, sleepy voices. She wriggled into the Small Man's room; it always smelled of smoke and alcohol. She hopped up onto the bed, looking at the shape under the covers; one shape, two people. The Tall Man was still here, it seemed. He was asleep. She walked over the covers to him, feeling them shift under her.

"Oh for God's sake." The Small Man sat upright, pushing her away down the end of the bed. "I thought I closed the door."

"Don't push her." The Tall Man also sat up, reaching down and scooping her up and placing her on his lap for a pet. He scratched her behind her ear, grinning at the Small Man. "She's purring. She likes me."

The Small Man scowled at her. She continued purring, staring at him, large green eyes unblinking. He picked her up and carried her to the balcony and placed her outside, ignoring the Tall Man's laughter.

"You can't be jealous of a _cat_ , Ricky. Come on."

"But she's distracting you from _me_." The Small Man crawled onto the bed and onto the other man's lap, not quite unlike a cat himself. "Now, we have ten minutes until breakfast."

"Oh, that's very interesting."

The Small Man tilted his head aside in a wry look. "Don't tease me so."

Victoria abandoned the scene, scrabbling over the balcony and down the trellis beside it. She used to be much better at this, but she had gotten heavier for some mysterious reason. But it was almost nine o'clock, and this meant that it was time to visit her second favourite person in the world, although her world was very small. She pottered down the cobbled pathway along the side of the manor, already meowing her arrival. The sun was high and soft in the sky and the horse in the stable whinnied at her as she passed. She could never understand him, and she didn't care to try. The kitchen wasn't much further now, and she could smell delightful human food. She brushed against the kitchen door, meowing once more. It opened.

“Oh, good morning, ma'am.” The Calm Man nodded at her, stepping aside. “It’s bacon this morning. Your favourite.”

Victoria hopped up onto the counter, letting out an indignant _mrrp_ as the Calm Man simply scooped her back up again and placed her back down on the tiles.

“Afraid not, ma'am. It's quite unhygienic.” He joined a smaller human at the stove, taking something shiny and metal and retrieving some delicious morsel from the pan. He crossed to the side door and placed it on the grass. “You'll be dining outside this morning, ma'am. Careful now, it's hot.”

She swallowed it without even chewing, and it was as delicious as it always was. She attempted to wheedle some more out of the Calm Man, but he simply wouldn't budge. He ended up escorting her from the kitchen. She meowed outside the door for a while, but it never worked. He was resilient, even when she tried her best. She would just have to wait until the breakfast was being served. So she waited the ten minutes until it was served.

She tormented the staff on their way to the table. The Calm Man pushed her away with a foot; he was wearing his white gloves, and therefore couldn't touch her, lest he get fur on them. The table was already occupied, by less people this time. There had been a few wrong people, people who didn't belong. Victoria hadn't liked them, and she'd been very much relieved when they'd finally departed. It seemed she wasn't the only one.

“Oh, _querida_.” The Small Man smiled at her, leaning out of his chair as he reached a hand towards her. “C'mere, kitty. _Psshswssh_.”

She did not want to go over. She had many memories of the Small Man when he was smaller, and the overarching theme was panic as he chased her around the house. It was simply no way to treat a lady. She ignored his hand.

“Oh leave her be, Ricky,” said the Grey Lady, giving her newspaper a flick. “You're a pest.”

Victoria wove through the chairs, hopping up onto the one at the end. It used to always be occupied by the Gold Lady, but she had gone away and hadn't come back yet. Victoria was simply keeping it warm for her. She eyed the plates on the table, licking her lips. She caught the Tall Man's eye; he smiled. He was new, but he was nice and kind and he gave her nice pets. She remembered him from the first time she'd seen him; hidden under the Grey Lady's bed. It seemed he had been allowed around the rest of the house now.

“How long have you had her?” he asked. His voice was deep and pleasant. “She looks old.”

“Six years,” said the Grey Lady, looking over the paper at him. Her voice was clipped. “Why are you still here?”

The Small Man glanced up at this, eyes narrowing. “I thought you were over that whole fixation, Holly.”

“No, it's called putting on a front,” said the Grey Lady coldly. “When the other families are here, we have to be one. We cannot show the slightest divide. You should know that by now.”

The Tall Man was staring at his plate, poking at his food. Victoria placed a delicate paw on the table, watching unblinking. He mumbled his words.

“And here I was, thinking I was welcome.”

“You're not welcome,” said Holly with enough edge to cut. “I want you gone before the wedding. Out of the picture.”

“He's staying,” said the Small Man with equal sharpness. “I want him here.”

“You've already given the families enough leverage to call the entire wedding a sham. Think about Darla, what she's giving up in order to make sure _you_ don't get hung drawn and quartered.”

“For all they know I like men and women,” said Ricky, dropping his fork onto his plate. “Like Laya. They don't care about Laya.”

“They don't like Laya either, Ricardo. They just dislike you more, and you're giving them all the reason to-”

“I’m beginning to wonder if _you_ dislike me,” snapped the Small Man, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “And I don't see the point in having a private secretary who doesn't like me. Do you see the point? Do you?”

“Ricky.” The Tall Man placed a soft hand on the other man's wrist. “Calm down.”

“I don't even want to get married,” said the Small Man sharply, still glaring at the Grey Lady. “You insisted. _You_ did. Not me.”

“So you'll just let your family line end like that?” Holly scowled back at him from across the table. “Everything your mother went through to ensure people would view you as a Goldsworth, and you'll just throw it all away because you can't control yourself? Is that it?”

The Calm Man appeared in the doorway at the sound of the commotion. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything's fine.” The Tall Man gave his mouth a wipe with a napkin, getting to his feet. He kept his head turned away as he paced down along the table. “I have to go. Thanks.”

Victoria hopped up onto the table, delighted. She chowed down on the forgotten food left on the Tall Man's plate. It was still warm and fresh. The argument was cold but still fresh as well.

“I don't want to marry Darla,” spat the boy. “I don't want to get married. You wouldn't understand. You've never been married.”

“You can't cancel it now. The deliveries for food and drink are in a week's time.”

Ricky went quiet. He relaxed back in his seat a bit, fingers tapping the edge of the table. “...What are the deliveries?”

“Seafood, mainly. Boxes of the stuff. Casks of wine and cider, a hundred of each. It’s all ordered and paid for.” She said this as if it was enough for Ricky to change his mind. Surprisingly, it seemed to.

“Okay.” He was watching her with an odd look on his face, his eyes cool. “But I'll go through with the wedding for my mom. Not for you.”

She seemed relieved at this, her eyes closing. “Thank you, Ricardo.”

He looked at the Mayor, who was staring back with furrowed brows. “What?”

The man's face relaxed instantly. “Sorry, sir. My mind was wandering.”

“Right.” Ricky got to his feet, letting his fingers brushing the table in front of him. Then he gave the table a sharp tap, his hand going still. “A wedding. An exciting affair.” He looked at Holly, still with such an odd look. “I want everyone to be drunk enough to forget it ever even happened. Double the wine and cider orders.”

Then he left, tying his robe more firmly around his waist. The Mayor watched him go, his brows furrowing again. He hummed to himself. Holly stirred her tea before saying: “What?”

“Nothing, ma'am.”

Victoria finished the bacon that was on the plate. She licked her lips and left the room and found the nearest soft surface to sleep the day away on. Life was good.

* * *

The rest of the town seemed like a different world. Tinsley felt as though he'd been in a dream for the past few days, living life like royalty, with someone to do everything for him. Not that he particularly liked it. In a way, it made him understand why those people acted like they did; they had nothing to worry about but for money and power. Perhaps if they had to worry about rent, they'd stop trying to take out each other's throats. 

He dropped by his apartment first. He changed his shirt and shaved and made himself breakfast, seeing as he hadn't quite managed to finish the one that had been served to him. Then he made a coffee. Then he paced in a circle for a while. Oh, who was he kidding? He was trying to avoid the Three Blind Mice. He hadn't talked to them in days. He stood at his window that looked over the street and watched the people meandering back and forth between it and the Boardwalk. He looked at the station, just that bit further down.

"Fine," he eventually muttered to himself. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

They were waiting for him, seemingly. The Minister must have seen his car descending down the hill. They were seated in front of his desk in his office, their eyes stuck to him as the door opened.

Tinsley took off his hat, a bit shame-faced. “...Hello.”

“Long time no see,” said Fear, holding his cane across his knees. The marble handle shone. “Where have you been, big fella? Or do I need to ask?”

“I’ve been… busy.”

“Busy.” The Minister _hmmed_ and _hawed_ for a moment, getting to his feet. He dusted his black robe off. “We’ve been trying to get in contact with you. But each time we rang, the Mayor had to inform us that you were ‘otherwise occupied’. Care to elaborate?”

“You want me to elaborate, do you?” Tinsley let his coat slip off his shoulders, chucking it onto the coat rack as he passed by. “I’ll give you _all_ the details if you really want, Fitzgerald.”

“Sure look at him,” said Fear with a grin. “There’s a right spring in his step.”

Tinsley shrugged, a slow blink accompanying the movement. He positively swaggered around his desk, hands on his hips. “As I said, I’ve been busy.”

“Aye, the teeth marks on your neck give that away,” said the Minister grumpily.

“Oh dear. I’d entirely forgotten.” Tinsley plonked himself down into his chair, undoing his tie and an extra button or two. “Yeah. He likes to bite. And I like to be bitten. So it all works out.”

“Look at him,” snickered Fear, poking at the Minister with his cane. “He looks like a cherry tomato. Relax, you old bag.”

“It looks a bit sore,” said Banjo, eyeing the marks with raised brows.

“You should see the rest of me.”

“I think that’s enough messing,” said the Minister with a scowl. “We have business to discuss.”

“I’m all ears,” said Tinsley, crossing his legs, folding his hands on top of his knee. “Lay it on me.”

“While we were calling you - or trying to - we managed to get hold of someone else. A Jeanne Springer.” The Minister nodded. “She was very eager to discuss issues with us, and it seems we all share a common goal here.”

Tinsley tutted, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt at this revelation. “I didn’t know you’d been talking to her. She’s... not the nicest woman I’ve met.”

“We don’t need nice,” said Fear dismissively. “We need smart and sneaky. Which she is.”

“She said she’d talk to you. Did she not talk to you?”

Tinsley thought about it. He traced a finger along his jaw to stop at his chin, propping his head up. “She tried, I suppose.”

The Minister narrowed his eyes. “I see.”

Tinsley feigned innocence. Then he looked at Fear and Banjo, neither of whom seemed too impressed either. He spread his hands, sitting more upright. “Look, I’ve been keeping him distracted. And-”

“You’ve been letting him ride you like a seaside donkey,” said Fear, openly disapproving. “From what we’ve been told.”

“I haven’t!” said Tinsley indignantly, sitting straight. He laid his hands on the table, palms up. “I- I- He’s- You can’t just-” He went quiet, eyes big as he waited for one of them to talk. The silence lingered. He eventually mumbled an excuse. “...It’s hard to say no.”

“You’re meant to be our eyes on the inside,” said Banjo with a disappointed shake of his head. Tinsley bit his lip at this gesture, hiding his hands under the desk, shrinking in on himself. “Come on, Tinsley.”

“I am! I am, I-”

Fear hit his cane off the floor. “You can’t be our eyes on the inside if there’s someone sitting on your face the entire time!”

“Oh for God’s sake, Jesse,” said the Minister, pulling a face at this. 

“Well I don’t really have any other choice!” said Tinsley, gesturing vaguely at the air. “I mean, what am I supposed to do? Be his best friend? I have limited options here.”

“Why can’t you just be his friend?” asked Banjo with raised brows.

“Are you serious? Have you even spent five minutes in his company?” Tinsley rested his elbows on the desk, leaning forwards in all earnest. “All he wants to do is fuck! We - oh shut up Fitzgerald - We had sex six times last night. It’s like it’s what he runs on.”

"So what use are you to us then, eh?" Fear readjusted his thick-lensed glasses on his nose. "You're just the boy's concubine, aren't you?"

"What? No, I-"

"Tell us anything of relevance that has happened over the past three days," said the Minister, coming to a halt between Fear and Banjo. "Anything. Even just one thing."

Tinsley stared at him, wide-eyed. "I, um... He... _We_ , we, um..."

The silence was painful. Tinsley avoided their eyes, looking down at where his hands fidgeted on his lap. He felt like a schoolboy getting scolded.

"I told you," muttered Fear, getting to his feet with a bit of effort. He shuffled towards the door. "Just like the others. _Just_ like the others."

"Aye, you were right." The Minister held the door open for him before following. "Waste of time."

Banjo also heaved himself to his feet, pressing his lips together in a borderline pitiful smile. Tinsley's face dropped at this. They weren't just disappointed in him. They _pitied_ him. For what? For being weak. For being so goddamn weak. He watched Banjo go to the door before saying: "I'll try harder. I will."

Banjo gave him that pitiful smile again. "I know."

Tinsley sat in stunned silence for the next few minutes. He took out a cigarette, rolling it around in his fingers before eventually lighting it. He raked a hand through his hair repeatedly, eyes unfocused. He felt a fool. He was a fool. A fool in all the wrong ways. He looked down at himself, as if wondering what exactly had changed. He never used to let himself get caught up in moments so easily. Darla's words came back to him, hitting him like a slap in the face.  _This is what they do. They find some way of making you feel wrong in yourself. Wrong in your own mind, or your own body. And then they find a way to take that worry off your chest, and then they own you forever._ He straightened up in his seat, snatching the phone from the hook and dialing the manor.

"Goldsworth Manor, Mayor speaking."

"It's Tinsley. Is Holly there?"

"I believe she's out on business for the morning, sir. Wedding planning."

"Delightful." Tinsley lit his cigarette with his free hand, talking around it. "Get me a coffee ready, would you? I'll be there in five."

* * *

There were guards at the front of the manor. This was different; there had always been a few around town, but never guards actually _guarding_ something. Tinsley didn't think about it much. He needed to focus.

He paced down the corridor, ahead of the Mayor. He didn't need directions by now. He went right to the parlour door, ignoring the Mayor's words saying that he _must_ knock, it's protocol. Ricky was lounging on the couch, one leg propped up. It appeared he'd finally gotten dressed, a deep red shirt that was half-heartedly buttoned. In his hand was a photo album. His eyes were sad as he looked at the photos, the black-and-white images of him as a baby in his mother's arms. She looked so happy. So did he.

"Ricky."

He looked up at Tinsley, closing over the album. "You're back soon. Can't stay away, hm?"

"We need to talk."

Ricky's raised his eyebrows at the firm voice, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Oh?"

"I'm serious." Tinsley heard the door closing as the Mayor left them to their business. "Stop laughing."

"I'm not laughing." Ricky placed the photo album aside with the others, getting to his feet. "I just like that voice you use when you're trying to be in charge."

"I'm not-" Tinsley sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not trying to play any sort of game here, Ricky."

"Sure." Ricky smiled at him, taking him by the hips as he walked him back towards the table, the same one from that night so long ago. “But first, how about we take a walk down memory lane?”

“How- How about we don’t?” Tinsley took hold of the man’s hands, bringing them together in front of him. “How about we don’t do that?”

Ricky’s brows drew together slightly. “Don’t you want to do that?”

“Oh I want to do that,” said Tinsley quietly, his gaze flickering between the other man’s eyes and mouth. “God I want to do that.”

“Then what’s the hesitation for?” Ricky pushed up on his tiptoes in an attempt to kiss him, frowning as Tinsley raised his chin, putting his mouth out of reach. “Oh come on. That’s just cruel.”

Tinsley kept hold of the man’s hands, even though he could feel them pull a little out of his grip. “Let’s just- Let’s just talk!”

Ricky’s face fell flat. “Talk.”

“...Yes.”

Ricky’s eyes narrowed somewhat. “Are you ill?”

“Is it really that crazy of a suggestion?”

“Yes.”

Tinsley looked aside, biting on his lip. His gaze found the drinks cabinet. He hurried over to it. He needed one. He poured two glasses, before Ricky’s suspicious voice made him pause.

“Don’t pour one for me. It’s eleven in the morning.”

Tinsley pressed his lips together in a line, keeping his back to him. “Oh? Is that really the time?”

“That’s a watch on your wrist, isn’t it?”

Tinsley straightened up, distractedly fiddling with the strap of the watch. “Yup. I guess it is.”

Ricky’s voice was closer now, still deathly calm. “And you can read it?”

Tinsley turned to look at him, one hand still resting on the rim of his glass on the cabinet. He cleared his throat before speaking in a firm voice. “I wanted to talk to you. About the last few days.”

Ricky looked him up and down, and not exactly in a nice way. “Then let’s talk.”

“Okay.” Tinsley tapped a finger against his glass, his other hand on his hip. "I - hmm - I didn't like the way you acted around me in front of the others."

Ricky rolled his eyes, flopping back onto the couch. He linked his hands behind his head, legs crossed. "And how did I act, hm?"

"Like I was a damn trophy wife," said Tinsley, crossing to the door and yanking it open. The Mayor stared back, eyes wide. "Oh, perfect. Could I get that coffee? Black." He closed the door, turning back to Ricky. "Look, the kissing and the touching and all that is fine when we're in private. But-"

"But what? You don't want people to know we're sleeping together?"

"I don't want you using me as a way to- to rile other people up!" 

Ricky didn't reply for a moment. He let one arm rest along the back of the couch, his other hand running the back of his fingers along his jaw. Then he tilted his head aside and said: "But you like it."

"I don't like it," said Tinsley indignantly.

"Yes you do," smiled Ricky, teasing. "You kissed me back a hell of a lot for someone who doesn't like it."

Tinsley flushed, folding his arms across his chest. "Reflex."

"Is it." Ricky smiled again, a sly curve of his mouth. "You know, you're the first man who I've been all over in public. I'm usually at your end of the situation."

"And how did it usually make you feel?" said Tinsley dryly, arms still folded, stiff. "When your dozens of mysterious ex-lovers paraded you around like-"

"My mysterious ex-lovers?" Ricky scoffed, sitting more upright. Then his eyes sharpened. " _Ay Dios mío_ , are you _jealous,_ Tinsley?"

Tinsley flushed for the second time in minutes. "What? No, I'm-"

"You _are_." Ricky seemed delighted at this revelation, pushing himself into a sitting position, hands gripping the edge of the cushion below him. "Oh, look at you. You're adorable."

Tinsley tutted, turning his head as the Mayor swept in with his coffee and placed it down on the table for him. The butler left as swiftly and silently as he'd entered. Tinsley picked up his coffee and took a mouthful before turning back to Ricky, who was now laid out along the cushions with his chin resting in his hand. He was grinning in a downright devilish manner. 

"What exactly has you so jealous?"

Tinsley narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't tell me this is doing it for you."

"Oh, most definitely." Ricky laid his head back on the arm of the couch, shifting his hips in a subtly suggestive manner as he got comfortable. "Come here, _amante_. Tell me in excruciating detail what has you _so_ jealous." 

Tinsley rolled his eyes, wandering to a halt beside the couch. "It doesn't make me jealous. It just bothers me."

"And why does it bother you."

"Because you've never told me about any of them," said Tinsley quietly, crouching down so that they were eye level. "For all I know you see them every day in the street."

"No." Ricky's voice was equally quiet, but he wasn't smiling anymore. "I never see them."

Tinsley nodded, acting as if he didn't notice Ricky opening his shirt just that bit more, inviting. "Okay. That's all I wanted to know."

"But speaking of jealousy," said Ricky, his gaze heavy as he let it trail over the other man's face. "And seeing as you're _so_ eager to talk... tell me about your wife."

Tinsley face hardened at this. Then he straightened up, moving back to his coffee. "No."

"Well that's just unfair." Ricky got off the couch, taking out his tin of cigarettes and flipping it open as he wandered towards the window. "I mean, I answered your question."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You never want to talk about it."

"I know!" said Tinsley with sudden ferocity. "So don't ask me about it!"

Ricky seemed a bit taken aback at this. He took the unlit cigarette from his mouth. "Are you not having fun, Tinsley? Talking isn't as enjoyable as you thought it'd be?"

"You are such a little brat," said Tinsley, turning to face him as the man came closer. "Sometimes I wonder why I even put up with you."

Ricky smiled, placing his cigarette and the tin aside with one hand. "I could remind you."

He didn't see Tinsley's hand raise. He just felt it press against his stomach, keeping him at a distance. Ricky arched an eyebrow in an entirely unimpressed manner. His voice was just as unimpressed.

"Do you still love her."

"No," said Tinsley coldly.

"Then why won't you talk about her."

"Because she hurt me," said Tinsley, distant, both physically and emotionally. "And I've spent the last ten years of my life trying to leave it behind."

"But you haven't left it behind."

"I'm trying," said Tinsley through gritted teeth. He felt Ricky push a bit more firmly against his hand, felt fingers softly slip around his wrist. "But you're making it awfully difficult for me."

"I offered to help you forget."

Tinsley tutted under his breath, eyes narrowing. "You're a little demon."

"Amn't I?" Ricky brought the man's hand down to his belt, feeling Tinsley's fingers slowly hook under it. "I could help you leave it behind, baby. I-"

"Don't call me baby," said Tinsley with a sudden coldness. His hand stayed wrapped around Ricky's belt. "I don't like it."

"Why not." 

"Because it makes me sound as if I'm yours."

"And you really don't want to be mine?" Ricky tilted his head aside, the lazy beginnings of a smile on his face. "And there's no way I can change your mind?"

Tinsley gaze was hard enough to leave bruises. "I don't want to be like the others; owned by you."

"But I'd treat you nice."

"Like a pet? Maybe give me a treat when I'm good?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want you to be good. Quite the opposite, actually."

Tinsley shook his head, taking his hand from Ricky's belt. He turned away, taking another mouthful of his coffee. He could almost hear the gears turning in Ricky's mind, the bafflement at how the situation was not unfolding how it usually did. He felt Ricky's hands take a gentle hold of his arm, leaning against him. 

"Well how about we go on a date?"

Tinsley paused at this. He turned his head, looking down at the shorter man's face. "A date?"

"Yeah. You and me." Ricky smiled brightly, turning Tinsley to face him more directly. "We could go to the _Monty_. Just us. If you'd like."

Tinsley nodded, a bit dumbfounded. "I think I'd like that."

"Great! We'll go later." Ricky gave him a light kiss on the cheek before turning away. "And then-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Tinsley caught hold of his wrist, pulling him back around and flush against him and kissing him hard. He walked the shorter man back toward the couch, pulling his shirt down off his shoulders, feeling Ricky's hands gripping his shoulders to stay balanced. They dropped onto the couch, Tinsley on top, and he kissed him and kissed him and he realized he would never be able to get tired of this feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to credit the-nervous-artist for inspiring that opening scene with the kitty POV. v cute
> 
> also shoutout to whendoesdestielbecomecanon for helping me with some translating!!


	7. Fools

The Mayor was on a rare night off. He sat in his own room, far from all the dramatics, in a comfy pair of pajamas and warm woolly socks. He read a book in the soft candlelight that fell onto his bed. He’d disconnected the phone. He’d locked his door. For the next eight hours he was a hermit, and he wanted no connection with the outside world. No detectives. No townsfolk. Absolutely no Goldsworths. Just him and his book.

There was, of course, a knock on the door. Ricky's voice hissed through. “Mayor? I'm going to assume you're in there. If Holly asks where I am just say I'm out hunting. Okay? Okay. Thanks!”

The footsteps hurried off. He heard them pass the window seconds later, going around the side, hidden from view. The Mayor went back to his book. He managed this for all of two minutes before there was another knock on the door. It was a light one, but determined nonetheless.

“Mayor?” It was Fran, her voice hushed. “Where do you keep the tea? The chamomile tea? I can't find it.”

“The bottom drawer in the set below the stove.”

“Thanks!”

She left. He knew exactly why she'd wanted to know where the teas were kept; he hid the spare keys to the car in the normal jar of tea. But tonight, it wasn't his business. The world settled again. Then came one woman who simply would not be ignored.

He ignored the first knock on the door. He ignored the second. He ignored the clearing of a throat. He only raised his head at the voice.

“James?”

He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. He got out of bed, wrapped himself in his dressing gown, and cracked open the door. “Ma’am.”

Holly stood with her arms folded, manicured nails shining in the light from the oil lamps in the hall. Her white hair was set in curlers. “I can’t sleep. I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“Can it not wait until morning?”

“No.”

He debated talking back. Technically, he was off the clock, and he could say what he wanted. But he did what he always did, and was a fool. “If you insist.”

He stepped aside and in she came. He closed the door behind her, wondering exactly when reflex had become second nature. Holly poured them two drinks. She handed one to him. He accepted, but not gratefully.

“I’m quite tired, ma’am.”

She gave him a flat look. “You’re still somewhat upset with me.”

"Why would you think that?"

"You haven't been putting milk in my tea," she said dryly, seeing his calm demeanor break a tad as he attempted to stop himself from laughing. "Very childish."

“I know."

“You think I’m being too hard on Ricky.”

“I do.”

“That’s what I want to discuss. Ricky.” She pressed her lips in a line, sitting on the single armchair under the window. “I don’t think I’ve been handling him correctly.”

“I said as much.”

She threw him another flat look. “I know. But you have to understand, I didn’t know how to go about trying to control him.”

The Mayor sat at the end of his bed, holding his glass on his knee. “No, I don’t understand. Perhaps you could explain?”

Holly took a mouthful of her drink, swallowing it in one. “Lucy was easier. We got along well. She’d listen to me and I’d listen to her. She was stable. Ricky isn’t. He’s always been difficult. I thought maybe he’d grow out of it, but he’s just gotten worse.”

The Mayor didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She’d just spoken a plain fact, as plain as the nose on her face. He waited for her to continue.

“I thought to myself that if Ricky acts like a wild animal, then I’ll treat him as such. Whip him into shape. Give him a tap on the nose whenever he snapped.”

“Like Lucy would.”

“Like Lucy would,” she repeated quietly. “But Lucy had nothing to fear from him.”

The Mayor raised his brows at this. “Do you feel like you have something to fear?”

She pursed her lips. She took another sip of her drink. “Earlier today I was talking to him - trying to talk to him - about the wedding. We were in Lucy's old office. I realized I didn’t want to turn away from him. I didn’t feel safe unless I could see him, like if I turned my back on him he’d attack me.”

“Oh.”

“And he kept mentioning the fact that he wasn’t going to get married.” A frown came over her face, a genuinely puzzled one. It was a look he rarely saw on her face. “I don’t understand. He was so insistent about it. He said he’d agree to the wedding, but not the marriage.”

“That is quite confusing.”

“I know.” She bit her lip, silent for a moment. “What do you think I should do?”

He mulled it all over for a while, taking infrequent tastes of his drink. “I’m not sure.”

Holly watched him curiously. “How did you handle Ricky’s grandfather? He was a bit on the manic side, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Alejandro was volatile. Especially towards the end.”

“Well, I don’t particularly want it to end the way Alejandro did.”

“I know.”

“I was thinking,” she said slowly, her fingers tapping against the glass in her hands. “Perhaps if I got him a pet, something to encourage some gentleness in him. Or am I just being a fool? Perhaps he'd like a dog? Do you think he'd like a dog?” She frowned again, a pensive one. "Yes, a dog. A cat isn't excitable enough for him. Oh, how he used to torment poor Victoria."

He smiled at this. “A dog. I think that's a very clever idea, ma'am.”

She finished her drink in thoughtful silence. She lifted up her glasses to rub at the indents they left on her nose. When she settled them back down, she looked through them at the Mayor. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“If Ricky was to harm me, would you stand aside and let him?”

The Mayor looked into his drink, as if it held all the answers. “I wouldn’t say so.”

“And how would you propose to stop him?”

The Mayor didn't look up, swilling the drink around lightly. “I said I wouldn’t stand aside, ma’am. But I highly doubt that I’d be able to stop him.”

* * *

The waters were calm and black, blending into the sky in the distance. Tinsley felt like he was floating in space. He didn't mind the feeling. He took another mouthful of his drink, checking his watch. He was a bit early, for a reason. He wanted to mull over exactly what he was doing, and whether or not he was being a fool. He hadn't found the answer yet. He lit another cigarette, watching the flame chew up the match before flicking it away into the water below.

He didn’t know much about Ricky, when he thought about it. He wasn’t too sure of anything about him, apart from the fact that he was unstable and violent. But he always knew that he was pretty, and he’d never had better sex with anyone he’d ever met. Tinsley mentally cursed himself; he had to start seeing this logically. Ricky was a bad person. That was the truth of it. He did bad things and he did them with a smile. Tinsley puffed away on his cigarette as he pondered the situation.

He was still here to try and, well, free the town from a tyrant. He could always try and sit Ricky down and talk to him about the situation. Or he could skip that and just go straight to the part where he gets put through the floor. Tinsley hummed. His other option was to go through with all this and allow Ricky to get killed at his own wedding. This was also an unsettling prospect. Tinsley hummed again, more worriedly.

“Detective Tinsley?”

He turned to throw a sidelong look at the waiter. It was just a normal waiter. Not _the_ waiter. He didn't seem to be around tonight. “I'm him.”

“Mr Goldsworth said to bring you in to him,” said the waiter in a monotonous voice. “Please follow me.”

Tinsley followed him, taking his drink and cigarette with him. They came to a halt outside a door that led to the private rooms. Tinsley ignored the cheeky smile on the waiter's face before muttering a thanks. He went into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Wow. Luxurious.”

“Me or the room?”

Tinsley turned his gaze from the fur-covered bed to Ricky, who was lounging back across a cushioned armchair in front of the window that looked over the bay. He smiled. Tinsley didn't return it fully.

“I’d say both.”

“Both. Alright.” Ricky swung his feet back around to the floor, standing up and swanning right into the other man's arms. He smiled up at him in such a darling manner it would've made the toughest man melt. “What's the matter, Tinman?”

Tinsley gave him a wry look, taking him by the shoulders and turning him to face him directly. Then he buttoned up the man's shirt a bit more. “Not tonight.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean that I want to _talk_ to you.”

“What is with you and your obsession with talking?” Ricky turned away with a shrug of a shoulder, moving to the wine and pouring two glasses, a deep red. “Where's the fun in that?”

“Not everything is fun in life.”

“It is if I decide it is.”

Tinsley folded his arms across his chest before swiftly unfolding them. He didn't want to appear defensive, or on the offense. “I just- I feel like I don't know a lot about you.”

He watched Ricky's movements slow to a halt. The man still had his back to him, a hand resting on either glass, fingertips just touching the rims. “No?”

Tinsley gauged the cool voice. “Well, no. Not really.”

“And you want to get to know me.”

“I want to be more than just a side piece, yeah.”

“That's not really an answer.” Ricky finally turned, breezing across the space between them to push the glass of wine into Tinsley's hand. “So I'll take that as an answer in itself.”

Tinsley closed his eyes with a sigh. “Look, I just- I feel like maybe we don’t really know each other that well.”

“I was perfectly content to just leave it like that.” Ricky let himself drop back onto the armchair, kicking his legs up on the table between it and the couch opposite. “Because I think I’ll just cut to the chase; we don’t really like each other. We like having sex with each other.”

“Well I don’t like that,” said Tinsley, finally sitting across from him. “I’m not that type of man.”

“You were for the past few days.” Ricky’s eyes flashed dangerously as he took a mouthful of his drink. He swallowed it, placing the glass down before saying: “What changed?”

Tinsley stayed still. “Hm?”

“What changed.” Ricky watched him with eyes so sharp it was a risk to even meet them. “In the last twenty-four hours.”

Tinsley took a casual taste of his drink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean your attitude has really done a one-eighty.” Ricky tilted his head aside, one arm resting along the armrest, his fingers slowly rubbing against each other at the end. “I’m simply wondering why.”

“Because I started thinking with my head again,” said Tinsley dryly. “And not any other part of my body.”

“Well I prefer when you don’t use your head.”

“I know you prefer that,” said Tinsley, throwing him a flat look. “But at the end of the day I’m a private detective. Not a private prostitute.”

Ricky gave him a sidelong look as he sipped his drink. “Mm. Pity.”

Tinsley tutted, turning his head aside. He lit a cigarette, sitting back and crossing his legs as he rolled up his sleeves. “Well if you didn’t really want to talk tonight, then why am I here.”

“You really want to talk?”

“Yeah, I want to talk.”

“Fine.” Ricky watched him, unblinking. “I hear you’ve been meeting up with those three idiots and my, uh, future wife. What’s that about?”

Tinsley spread his hands in as casual a manner he could muster. “They’re my friends.”

“Your friends?”

“Well, Banjo is. The other two just come as an unfortunate gruesome twosome.”

“I don’t know if I like you being friends with them.”

“I don’t care whether or not you like it,” said Tinsley, hearing the defensiveness in his own words. He was beginning to regret agreeing to this ‘date’. He should’ve known. He should’ve known Ricky had some ulterior motive up his black satin sleeve. “What’s your problem with them anyway?”

“Too many to count.” Ricky skipped on in his interrogation. “And what about Darla? You’re spending some time with her.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“She’s a pretty girl,” said Ricky quietly, so quietly it was dangerous. “And I know you’re a sucker for a pretty face.”

“A face is only as pretty as the person who owns it,” said Tinsley, matching his tone. “Or at least, that’s my view.”

“Pretty enough to be holding little meetings in Fear’s office?”

“They’re not meetings,” said Tinsley coolly, even though he could feel a cold sweat breaking out at the back of his neck. He casually rubbed it away. “It’s called having friends. You’re being paranoid.”

“I’ve never been paranoid a day in my life,” said Ricky with a raised eyebrow. “Because my paranoia has always turned out to be justified.”

“What is this. What are you doing.”

“We’re talking, Tinsley. Like you so desperately wanted.” Ricky spoke into his glass. “You wanted to learn about me. Get to know me. For whatever reason you’re not telling me.”

“Maybe there is no reason.”

Ricky shook his head, one arm folded across his chest to rest in the elbow of the opposite. “No. People don’t want to get to know me, Tinsley. In fact, they often want to do the exact opposite.”

“I wonder why,” muttered Tinsley.

Ricky gave him an unimpressed look before getting to his feet. He wandered to the drinks cabinet, refilling his glass. The wine was black and shiny, like oil. He pushed the cork back in with his thumb before letting his eyes flicker back up to meet Tinsley’s in the mirror. The detective lowered his gaze before turning his head away. There was no sound but for the crackling of candles. Ricky watched him in the mirror for another few seconds. Then he turned back around, holding his drink down at his hip with dangerous nonchalance as he came back towards the couches. He walked slowly, and softly, and not quite unlike a predator. Tinsley kept his eyes on the table, and the single candle flickering in the centre. The voice was purred.

“Are you not telling me something, Tinsley?”

Tinsley swallowed his drink, tapping a finger against the empty glass in thought. Then he also got to his feet, turning his head to look down his nose at the other man. “You have a very suspicious mind, you know that?”

He stepped around him, their shoulders brushing, white against black. He refilled his own glass, taking a large mouthful before turning back to face Ricky. At least the man had sat down again. He was still watching Tinsley with a gaze that wasn’t exactly putting the detective at ease. Tinsley came closer anyway, his free hand clenching and unclenching by his side.

“And here I was, thinking this was going to be an actual date.”

“I don’t date, Tinsley.” He smiled. “I can’t now. I’m engaged, amn’t I?”

“Don’t remind me.”

Ricky smiled at his tone. “Are you jealous, _amante_?”

“No. I’m not.” Tinsley sat himself back down on the couch, legs crossed as he rested back and lit a cigarette. He snapped the lighter shut with a quick flick of his wrist. “I’ve done the whole marriage thing, Ricky, and I have no doubt that you’ll be every bit as miserable as I was.”

“Mm. Tell me about that.” Ricky smiled quite unpleasantly. “Give me some tips on how to be with a woman that I don’t want to be with.”

“I wanted to be with my wife at the beginning, Ricky,” he said quietly. “But things changed over time. So I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Ricky’s face had stiffened. “You wanted to be with her?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. “Did you love her?”

“At the start, I loved her a lot.” Tinsley regarded him through the haze of cigarette smoke. “Does that annoy you?”

Ricky’s unclenched his jaw to speak. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I was never taught to share as a child.” Ricky took a drink, a gulp or two. He watched the glass, tilting it at an angle as he swilled the wine around in it. “Is she alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know.”

“Because she left me and we never spoke again,” said Tinsley with finality. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive or remarried or whatever. She left and I didn’t try to contact her and she didn’t try to contact me. The end. You can applaud if you want.”

Ricky watched him with narrowed eyes. “I’d like an encore. With more specifics.”

“Curtains are closed, Ricky.” He smiled a tight smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “And they’re not opening again.”

“Did she leave before or after your kid died?”

“Ricky.” His voice was rough with anger, his shoulders stiffening. “Shut up.”

“I’m just curious,” said Ricky with an easy smile. “Don’t get upset.”

“You’re a little prick, you know that?”

“You have two options now, Tinman. We can go your path and continue this delightful conversation, or we can go my path and actually enjoy ourselves.” Ricky tilted his head aside with a cruel smirk, his dark eyes heavy. “Your pick.”

Tinsley put his glass on the table with a bit more force than necessary, some of the wine hopping out the top to splash onto the surface like blood. “My pick is that I’m going home.”

He got to his feet, storming over towards the door. He heard Ricky following like an unwanted shadow.

“But I’m just wondering, did your wife leave because of _you_ or because of-”

Tinsley whipped around, slapping the shorter man hard across the face, forcing a curse from his mouth. He hit him again, harder, taking hold of his shirt collar and shaking him sharply. Ricky stared at him with a dazed and borderline dreamy look, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you. _Fuck you_.” Tinsley shook him again, snarling the words in his face. “One more word from your whore mouth and I’ll kill you.”

Ricky smiled, his hands gripping the other man’s wrists. “Hit me again. I know you want to.”

Tinsley exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re goddamn poisonous. You really are.”

Ricky searched his eyes, still smiling like a Cheshire cat. Then he turned away, letting Tinsley’s hands slip off him. He retrieved his glass, taking a mouthful of fruity wine. He flopped back down into the armchair, one hand resting behind his head. He looked at Tinsley, where the man still stood tense by the door.

“I think you’d forgotten who I am, Tinsley.” He smiled again. “I’m not boyfriend material.”

“I gathered that.”

“So you can wash that fantasy down the drain.” He let a hand trail down his shirt buttons, undoing them leisurely. “And come here. Unless you’re scared.”

Tinsley raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who brought me here for an interrogation because you were _so_ worried I was hiding something. I think that proves who’s scared of who.”

“You think that was an interrogation?” Ricky laughed, a deceivingly bright sound. “You’ve never seen me interrogate.”

“I can imagine.”

“I doubt that.” Ricky watched him over the rim of his glass. “C’mon. Sit down.”

“I’m not a dog at your beck and call, Ricky. I’m going home.”

“Oh don’t be like that.” Ricky pouted, blinking his big eyes at him. “I’ll let _you_ ask _me_ a question.”

Tinsley stared at him for a moment, letting his hand slide off the door handle. “Fine.”

Ricky smiled a devilish smile as the detective took the seat across from him again. “Well, what would you like to know about Ricky Goldsworth.”

Tinsley thought about it. He took a mouthful of his drink, gaze drifting aside. Then he said: “The other families. What's their deal?”

Ricky's face fell a bit at this. “Well I don't want to talk about _them_ . I want to talk about _me_.”

“But what's going on with all of you? Why don't they like you?”

“Because I don't have a father,” said Ricky flatly. He lit a cigarette, watched the match burn up. “But I'm still twice as rich as any of them. That's why.”

“And have they always been like that with you?”

Ricky nodded as he took a drag on his cigarette. “Yeah. And I was a pretty weedy teenager, so I guess it was easy for them too.”

“And have you ever thought about maybe being allies?”

Ricky frowned at him in genuine bafflement. “Allies? Are you mad?”

Tinsley shrugged, borrowing the other man’s matches to light his own cigarette. “Seems like the sane thing to do. They all hate you. You’re going to fall eventually if you don’t try and build some bridges.”

“I’d rather burn the bridges to the ground. And those _perras_ with them.” Ricky swallowed the rest of his drink in one go. “Enough. Enough about them.”

“You’re stressing about this wedding. You’re trying to hide it, but you’re not doing very well.”

“Of course I’m stressed. I was hoping tonight would relieve me of these stresses for a period of time, but it appears that you’re determined not to do what we both want and fuck me.”

“It’s called self-restraint.”

“I’m not familiar,” said Ricky coolly, lifting his gaze to meet the other man’s level one. “I never had to be.”

“No, you just ran around terrorizing an entire town and now expect them to be perfectly fine with you taking your mother’s place.” Tinsley shook his head in wonder. “And I thought you were smart. I really did.”

Ricky didn't respond. He raised his eyebrows, gaze lowered as he finished his drink. “I came here to get something I want, detective.” He raised his eyes to meet the other man's. “And I always get what I want.”

Tinsley was quiet, stubbing out his cigarette. He uncrossed his legs, absent-mindedly brushing his hands down his thighs before sitting back again. He saw Ricky immediately understand the invitation, his gaze lowering to the proffered seat. But to his hidden surprise, Ricky didn't act on it. Instead, the man leaned back in his chair, slowly unbuttoning his shirt fully, tucking each side behind him. Laying himself out. Tinsley's grip was tight on his glass, his other hand tapping out an agitated rhythm on his leg. _Don't. Don't break. Fuck._

“I want you, Tinsley.” Ricky said the words quietly, casually, as he unbuckled his belt. “And I know you want me too.”

Tinsley struggled to control his breathing, watching the other man's hand trail down his lean body before slipping into his trousers. “I- I just- Right.” _Fuck_.

Ricky's free hand took hold of the back of the chair beside his head, his heavy-lidded eyes watching the internal struggle on Tinsley's face with clear satisfaction. He let his head rest back, inhaling deeply, his body laid out just for the other man to see.

“C'mon, baby.” He could see Tinsley's eyes taking everything in, all of it, shining with the same ravenous hunger as a man dying of starvation looks at a three course meal. “Help me out here.”

“Stop it.” The words were almost choked, Tinsley's entire body tense to the point of snapping clean in half. “Stop. Ricky.”

“Oh, it's you that needs help, is it?”

Tinsley didn't object as the other man moved forwards, pushing the contents of the low table aside as he crawled across it. The candle was knocked aside, the hot wax splattering onto the table, the flame sputtering out. Ricky’s hands gripped Tinsley's legs, pushing them further apart. He leaned in, looking up at Tinsley with just his eyes before running his body up along the detective's, hands still holding his legs for balance.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, his mouth following Tinsley's, open and wanting. “Stop torturing yourself, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” He could feel the man's trembling breaths against his lips. “I want to make you feel good. I do.”  

Tinsley shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. “You're a fucking curse.”

Ricky smiled to himself. Then he straddled him without fear, feeling Tinsley’s hands already take hold of his waist, the detective’s lips and nose brushing his chest. The lips traveled up his chest to his neck as Ricky settled down against him, nice and close. Tinsley’s hand held one side of the man’s neck, his mouth pressed to the other side, eyes closed. He took a deep breath, breathing him in, feeling his willpower cracking like an egg in a hydraulic press. He ducked his head, burying his face in Ricky’s shoulder, hiding in the very source of his incalculable amounts of shame. He took a deep breath. _Torture_ . He let it out shakily, feeling one of Ricky’s hands pushing through his hair. _This is torture_.

“Your restraint is admirable, I'll admit,” said Ricky absent-mindedly, slipping a hand down between them, feeling just how hard the other man was. Tinsley whimpered at the touch, fingers digging into Ricky's arms, biting on his lip so hard he tasted blood. “Oh, I like that sound. Let's see if I can do that again, hm?”

Tinsley pressed his mouth to the man's shoulder as the hand continued palming him through his trousers, the other hand gripping the back of his neck, keeping him in place. His shoulders rose and fell with each laboured breath, but he refused to make even a single sound, despite Ricky having him a mess within seconds. He leaned back as Ricky went ahead and unbuckled the man's belt, his hand sliding down into his trousers.

“Ricky. Ricky, I just-” The words were panted, embarrassingly desperate. “Fuck you. Fuck.”

Ricky leaned in to kiss him on his open mouth, pausing as the hand prevented him from doing so, Tinsley's fingers pressed to his lips. Tinsley opened his eyes slightly, and fuck it, even the look of genuine confusion on Ricky's face was infuriatingly adorable. It didn't linger for long, however. Ricky took one of the offending fingers and slipped it right into his mouth, his eyes locked on Tinsley's as he slowly drew it out again. For a moment, Tinsley couldn't even remember how to draw a breath. He kept his fingertips just on the man's bottom lip, keeping his mouth open. So close. Too close. Tinsley couldn't tear his gaze away from that perfectly tantalizing mouth.

He pushed forward, slipping his tongue right into Ricky's mouth, capturing him in a fiercely heated kiss. He let out a low moan as he felt the tongue brush his, hearing one echoing it, Ricky's arm wrapping around his neck, drawing him in in a blatantly possessive move. Tinsley grabbed hold of his face, kissing him like it was a competition, their mouths working against each other, hot and wet and angry, hands running free, exploring each other. Ricky pushed forwards, pinning him back against the couch, refusing to break off for even a second, not even to catch his breath. Tinsley tasted like wine, like smoke, like every bad decision Ricky had ever made. It was delicious. He grinded his hips hard into him, Tinsley's fingers digging into his skin at the sensation, dragging down his back. The hands kept going, fingers pushing under Ricky's trousers and boxers alike, unashamedly grabbing his ass. Ricky let out a pleasantly surprised noise, allowing himself to be pulled more firmly up on Tinsley's hips. They were entangled against the soft couch, a mess of grasping hands and grinding hips, breathy moans and reddened lips. Ricky grunted in disapproval as Tinsley turned his head aside, panting for air.

“I can't- I don’t want someone to find out.” He didn’t want three men in particular to find out. Just thinking about having to face them again and tell them he’d failed was shameful enough as it was. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

Ricky raised his eyebrows, eyes big and dark and glittering. “Then we better not tell anyone.”

Tinsley smiled breathlessly at this. “I don't think you'll be able to stay quiet enough.”

Ricky kept his head tilted appropriately, his gaze lowered, watching the other man’s mouth. “Let's find out.”

“Ricky.” He turned his head away, feeling the man's lips simply find his neck instead. Shit. Shit, this was worse. “You can't just-” He inhaled deeply, one hand pushing up through the man's dark hair, holding him in place. “God damnit.”

Ricky hummed a distracted reply, his mouth exploring the side of Tinsley's throat in deep, slow kisses, his tongue sliding over his skin. He could hear the man's low moans, breathless, he could feel the hands holding him close, flush against his body. Ricky continued downwards, his hands resting on Tinsley's chest to keep him steady as he focused on the area just under the man's shirt collar, feeling him reacting underneath him.

“Shit.”

Tinsley pushed the word out through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. He willed himself to shove Ricky off him, to shove him right back onto the table, to smash the nearest glass over his head. But he couldn’t. The warmth of the man’s body against his was heavenly, the feeling of it pressed close, lithe and strong. He wanted him. He was crumbling again. And he hated himself for it. He let his eyes flutter open as Ricky finally broke off, one hand resting against the side of Tinsley’s neck that wasn’t reddened from his lips.

“Do you want to stay the night, baby?” he asked in a mockingly sad voice, as if Tinsley had even the slightest bit of willpower left to say no.

Tinsley just nodded in silence, his eyes dark and glittering, fixed on the man’s lips. His face was flushed, hair ruffled, his mouth open for two things only; to breathe, and to let Ricky in whenever he wanted. Ricky smiled down at him, a hand tracing lovingly down the side of his face.

“I love when I make a bumbling idiot out of you, Tinsley.” The words ghosted against the detective’s mouth. “It turns me on more than anything else you do, really.”

Tinsley breathed the words, his hands sliding down the man’s waist to his hips. “I hate you.”

“Yeah?” Ricky leaned forwards, a hand gripping the back of the couch, his mouth centimeters from Tinsley’s. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

Tinsley didn’t look away from the man’s face as his tie was undone, his shirt beginning to be unbuttoned. He could feel Ricky's fingers brushing his skin, burning. “I don’t think you understand just how much I mean it.”

Ricky took a leisurely breath, bringing his face close to his again. He spoke quietly. “Then I want you to fuck me until I do understand.” He leaned in further, whispering into the man's ear. “I want you to fuck me until I understand exactly how much you hate me.”

For a moment, Tinsley simply couldn’t speak. When he did, it was just as quietly as the other man. “Go to the bed. And take off your clothes.”

* * *

Darla checked her watch again, brows raised, lids heavy. The watch showed half two in the morning. "Yeah, he's not coming back. Not tonight."

"Well would you look at that." Fear shook his head, almost mournfully. "Ensnared. Just like all the others."

"Aye, just like all the others," echoed the Minister. He sighed, starting to blow out the candles, one by one. "I suppose we'll have to go into this blind."

Banjo pressed his lips in a line, although it was hidden behind his moustache. "I don't know if I'd risk that. I- What if he finds out?"

"There was more to fear when Lucy was alive," said the Minister, smoothing down his black robe as he turned to face the other three in the front pew. "Ricky doesn't have her brains. All he has is a rotten heart and a rabid mind. The one we have to look out for is that bloody Horsley woman."

Darla chewed on her lip, her fingers fidgeting on her lap. She looked up at him. "Do I really have to be the one to do it?"

"You'll be closest to him for the entire ceremony, and the meal afterwards." The Minister gave her a vaguely comforting smile. "Just a few drops in his drink, or in his meal, and he'll be done for. He'll be gone in minutes."

"And Jeanne's getting the poison?"

"The cyanide, yes." The Minister pulled at the gold cross around his neck. "She said she'll offer to do your makeup for the ceremony, and she'll give it to you then. A small bottle, easily concealed."

Darla sighed heavily. Then she got to her feet, brushing off her skirts before picking up her bag. "Well, every girl's dream wedding, hm?"

Her heels echoed as she receded down the aisle, handbag casually swinging by her side. The door swung shut after her with a reverberating _thud_. She felt a bit conflicted over the whole issue. Half of her felt terrified at the idea of killing someone, especially since that someone was Fran's friend. But the other half of her knew it was for the better. And anyway, at least it would excuse her from the awkwardness of a consummation.

She glimpsed the headlights in the distance. They didn't come to the town. They took the small side road directly to the manor, going at a fierce pace. It was Holly Horsley, with a dog in the back and a terrible sight in her head. She had found something, an awful something, tied to a post down in a hidden alcove after she'd pulled over to ensure the dog wasn't about to vomit. At first she hadn't even thought it was a body; its skin was too pale, translucent, slimy. It was bloated beyond recognition, but its waiters garb hadn't faded quite enough to fool her. 

She glanced out the car window as she sped home. She could see the gambling ships, the _Monty_ , where Ricky was entangled under the sheets with another one, another fool. And she'd had hopes for Tinsley. He was smart and sharp to the point of irritation, yet he'd stayed in the town. He'd stayed, because he still believed he could leave whenever he wanted. But no one could leave. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats kind of it now for set-up chapters!! the action kicks of next update wooo


	8. Hardest of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There is love in our bodies and it holds us together_   
>  _But pulls us apart when we're holding each other_   
>  _We all want something to hold in the night_   
>  _We don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay i got this one out real quick!! because i actually had _this_ one written before the previous chapter, but i needed the _previous_ chapter to develop the situation enough to reach this chapter, and yada yada yada. enjoy !!

_The grass was spongy under his feet. It was a pleasant feeling that he didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate. He was running, his footsteps pounding the grass and the moss that lay under it. He wasn’t sure what he was running from, but it was terrifying, more terrifying than anything he’d ever encountered in his life. The gravestones flew by either side, pale milk white in the dusk. He let out another frightened cry, hearing the snarling behind him, the snapping of fangs, of a bloody maw. He threw a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, seeing the figure dragging itself around another gravestone, half-crawling in its determination to get him. The man’s suit was shredded, his shirt stained with blood such a deep red it was black._

_“No.” Ricky’s voice was mumbled as he ran. He could see the building looming out of the fog, as if it was coming towards him, and not him towards it. “No no no no. Please no.”_

_“Ricky.” His father’s voice was grated like stone against steel. “My son. Mine.”_

_Ricky fell up the steps to the manor, scrambling in the door. He tried to close it, pushing at it with everything he had. His hands slipped against the wood, slick with sweat. It wouldn’t budge. He backed away as his father crawled up the steps to the hall, moving with unnatural jerks. The blood swung thick from his jaw._

_“Get away from me.” Ricky took the stairs two at a time; they were dusty, cobwebs between the banisters. Everything was two shades too grey. “Mamá! Mamá, help!”_

_The paintings along the walls were twice as large as they usually were, each Goldsworth looking down on this imposter. Ricky shielded his eyes from them, ashamed at the fact that he wasn’t who he said he was, that he’d never been who he said he was. He was someone else. He skidded to a halt beside his mother’s bedroom door, banging his fists on it._

_“Mamá! Mamá, please let me in!” He could hear the wet snarling as his father drew closer. He hid his face against the door, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut as the tears leaked out. “Someone let me in. Someone.”_

_He heard a yelp, like a dog having its tail be stepped on. He looked over his shoulder with wide watery eyes. His grandfather stood a few steps away, holding his father by the collar like he was nothing but a nuisance. Alejandro inclined his head, looking at him with burning black eyes._

_“You want to be like me.” He gave Ricky’s father a sharp shake. “Not like him.”_

_Ricky nodded, his face still pressed against the door, hands curled against it. “Yes. Yes, I don’t want to be him.”_

_A guttural laugh. His father looked at him from where he was on his knees on the rug. “You don’t have a choice. You’re me. You see this?” He wiped a hand across his mouth, smearing it in blood. He held it out, palm up. “This is in you. You have my blood. Mine.”_

_Alejandro looked from Ricky’s father to Ricky himself. His skin was beginning to burn away, slowly, like paper. He took something from his pocket, holding it out. “Do it.”_

_Ricky stared at the knife. He sniffed, looking back at his grandfather’s face, at eyes so identical to his. “...What?”_

_“Do it. And you’ll be one of us.”_

He awoke suddenly, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment he just breathed, listening to the sound of the gulls wheeling around in the blue sky outside, seeing the sun trying to peek through the curtains. He looked over his shoulder at where Tinsley lay face down, the end of his pointy nose squished aside by the pillow. He was snoring quietly, an oddly comforting sound. Ricky rolled over to face him, looking at him. He'd started to grow a beard somewhat; it was darker than the hair on his head. He somehow looked tired, even in his sleep. Ricky reached out a tentative hand, but he brought it back when Tinsley's eyes fluttered. He hid it under the covers in shame. Tinsley looked at him, half his face still hidden. Neither of them spoke. Ricky rolled back over, facing the wall. He felt the bed move as Tinsley sat upright, heard him let out a sleepy grumble. The detective retrieved his shirt from the end of the bed, shrugging it back on, cursing as it agitated the scratches down his back. He got out of the bed and started to get properly dressed.

Ricky sat upright, looking just a bit shamefaced. "I didn't mean what I said last night. All those things about your wife and- and your kid."

He waited for a response. Tinsley didn't give one. He tucked his tie into his pocket, buttoning up his shirt as if the other man hadn't even spoken. Ricky bit on his lip, looking aside. 

"It was out of line. I know that now. I wasn't thinking."

"Right."

"I just-"

"Forget it, Ricky." He glared over his shoulder at him, going to the window and yanking open the curtains. What a deceivingly sunny day. "You got what you wanted. That's all that matters to you. You always get what you want, and you don't care about the means you use to get it. So don't try the puppy-dog eyes with me now."

Ricky went quiet. He picked at the bedcovers. "I'm sorry."

"You can't just say the things you said and think it's all better because you said sorry." Tinsley snatched his cigarettes from the table, striding towards the door. "I grew up in the real world, Ricky. Outside of here. Where your actions actually have consequences."

Ricky mumbled the words. "My actions have consequences."

"No they don't. They never have. And because of that you're a spoiled little brat."

The door slammed shut. Ricky buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath, letting it out shakily. It was true, he never suffered consequences to anything he did. He just doled out consequences to other people, as if it was his right, as if it was his job. But even though he knew what he'd said was wrong, there was no remorse in him. There was nothing in him at all. Just emptiness, and a burning need to fill it up with whatever pleasures he could get his hands on. He found himself thinking about Tinsley's wife. More specifically about killing her, about taking her away, about getting rid of any competition. Whenever he thought of her he pictured her as being beautiful, more beautiful than him. She glowed, she was an angel, and he was a little demon. Tinsley said so, often. Ricky hated her.

He got dressed, leaving the room and going out onto the deck. He stared blankly at the horizon, his hands resting on the rail. He looked down at the water, dark and deep and so inviting. It must be nice, he thought, to be so deep underwater, where no one could see you or hear you and it was just you and the darkness and not a soul to bother you.

"Ricky? What are you doing?"

He snapped back to reality, realizing he'd been halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. He glanced around at Fran, who was squinting at him from behind her sunglasses. "Oh. Hi."

"You weren't about to jump in, were you?" She laughed at the idea, wandering over and leaning against the rail. She took a mouthful of her water. "God, I am _dying_. I came out to plan a little bit of a hen night for Darla, and ended up staying. Of course. I mean, we never learn, do we?"

He stared blankly at her. Then he said: "Am I a spoiled brat?"

"Oh, most definitely." She put an arm around his shoulder, grinning. It dropped a little at his face. "Are you okay? You seem a bit off."

"I'm good." He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut. "I'm good. I just need coffee or something."

"Great! Then let's grab a coffee."

They ended up in George's Café, the smaller boat tethered to the Monty with nothing but a wooden ramp. It was shaded with patterned fabrics and had a small half-bar at one end. The rest was simply seats and tables, nailed into the ground in case of more choppy weather. Fran brought the coffees back, setting one white ceramic cup down in front of Ricky. He absent-mindedly added a cube of sugar, stirring it with the spoon provided. Fran took a sip, watching his face closely.

"You spent the night with Tinsley, didn't you?"

He nodded yes.

"Usually he has you pretty chirpy the next morning." She sat back, crossing her legs, hanging one arm over the back of her seat. "Was it not good?"

He debated the question. "No. It was good. But he- he said a name during it. It wasn't my name."

Her eyes widened. She dropped her sunglasses lower down her nose. "Oh. What was the name?"

"Ros."

"Ros?"

"Yeah." He couldn't seem to forget it, the breathy way the name was spoken. _Ros_. "I think it's his wife's name."

Fran choked on her coffee, putting the cup back on the table. "What?! The man's married? Ricky, you sl-"

"No, he says they're separated." He pressed his lips in a line, looking down into his coffee. "What if he gets sick of me and goes back to her? He had a baby with her. He had a life with her. I can't give him anything. I don't know how to."

She stared at him, taking her sunglasses off. "Ricky, do you like this one?"

He thought about it. "No. No, but I want him to be mine. I don't want him to be anyone else's. I think I'd scream if I saw him with someone else. I..." He went quiet, his gaze lowered. Then he looked at her. "If I got her name and her description, would you be able to find her?"

She laughed nervously. "You're joking, right?"

"No."

"Ricky, I'm not going to kill a man's ex-wife just because you're jealous."

His voice was stone. "You have to."

She blinked. "What?"

"It's your job. You have to kill who I tell you to kill."

"Oh Ricky, come on." She laughed again, more nervously then before. Her nails tapped against the white mug for a few seconds. "You're not serious."

"I am." He got to his feet, coffee untouched. "I'll find out. I'll find out and then you'll do what I say. Okay?"

She watched him with wary eyes, her shoulders stiff. "...Okay."

"Good. Good." 

He saw Tinsley in the street, back on land. The detective didn't look at him. He just went straight into the church, letting the doors shut behind him. He was going in there a lot recently, for a man who wasn't remotely religious. Ricky debated going over to find out why. But he was tired, and he was angry, and he had a wedding to plan.

Holly was waiting for him when he came through the door. She looked a bit anxious, wringing her hands. She tried a smile. He didn't return it. 

“I went out of town last night," she said. "And I got you something.”

Ricky’s eyes narrowed as he slipped off his coat, chucking it at the Mayor, who caught it over his arm quite neatly indeed. “What did you get me?”

She opened the door, nodding in. She was smiling, and it was now genuine. Ricky peered in suspiciously. His mouth fell open in delight.

“A puppy!”

He ran into the room, falling to his knees beside the dog. It wagged its tail at the sight of him, bouncing on its feet. It wasn’t quite a puppy; it was halfway grown, but still young, with pointed ears and big brown eyes. Ricky gave it a scratch behind both ears, his face still alight. He looked back around over his shoulder at Holly, smiling widely.

“Oh I love him!”

“I thought you would.”

He closed his eyes as the Doberman propped itself up on him, paws on his arms as it licked his face. He laughed delightedly. “What’s his name?”

“He wasn’t named,” said Holly, still in the doorway. “You get to name him.”

“I do?” Ricky looked at the dog, holding its face in his hands. It had a wide head, all the more area to pet. He ran a hand along the metal-plated leather collar. “Diablo."

"Diablo?" Holly looked at the dog, at its pointed ears that resembled horns so perfectly. "Okay, I suppose that fits. But you keep him away from Victoria, alright? She's old now, she doesn't need the stress."

"I can't believe you got me a dog!" He stayed down beside it, giving it a pet all over. "Why?"

"Because you've had a rough few days, Ricky. I think you deserve it."

He smiled at her, attempting to prevent the dog from licking his face. "This is the best gift I've ever received. Oh _cómo mola!_  I love him."

"It looks like he loves you too," smiled Holly. What it must be like, she thought to herself, to have your emotions be so volatile. "Now, I haven't had the chance to bring him to the veterinary practice. You know where it is, don't you?"

"Beside the doctor's?"

"Yes." It was a new doctor, of course, who had no idea about the town, and no idea about Ricky. It was probably best if she meet Ricky while he was in a happy mood. "Do you want me to-"

"Oh, I'll bring him!"

He bounded out the door, and just like that, Diablo bounded after him. Holly looked questioningly at the Mayor, who nodded back with encouragement. 

"I believe this was one of your better ideas, ma'am."

"I do hope so." She fixed the collar of her blouse, turning back towards the dining room and her accounts. "I'll have a tea, whenever you're ready. And don't forget the milk this time."

* * *

"He's all healthy," smiled the doctor, bringing Diablo back out. "A very lively dog, but I think you'll be able to handle him."

Ricky was still smiling, like a child with a new toy. He crouched down in front of the dog, petting it along its snout. It's tail was wagging so furiously its entire behind wagged with it, paws clicking against the floor.

"It will be a good distraction for you," said the doctor with a smile, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. Holly had hired the new doctor, and she'd been quite insistent that it be a woman. She didn't want another dead doctor on her hands. "After your mother. I'm so sorry for what happened to her."

Ricky's smile dropped a tad. Then it slipped away completely. "It happens to a lot of people, doesn't it."

"No." She let her hands brush her stiff white apron flat against the stiffer grey skirts underneath. "No, I don't believe it does."

Ricky looked up at her tone, an eyebrow raised. "What?"

“...I believe the former doctor was correct.”

Ricky's hand slowed on the snout of the dog. “What do you mean?”

“I- I believe that Mrs Goldsworth _was_ supposed to live for a few months yet.”

Ricky stared at her blankly, even though his mind was racing. “What?”

“Me and my colleagues were looking through the former doctor's notes on Mrs Goldsworth's condition,” said the doctor, somewhat rushed, as if each word was a risk to be heard. “And from his diagnosis… Well, me and my colleagues couldn't find anything incorrect about it.”

Ricky had frozen entirely. His unblinking eyes were stuck to the woman. “So why did my mother not die when the doctor said she would.”

“An external reason,” said the doctor slowly.

The silence could've been cut with a knife. “She was murdered.”

“...Most likely. I'm sorry, I thought that- I thought you would've gue-”

“Someone killed her. Someone killed my mother.” Ricky rose to his feet, dangerously slow and hackles raised. “How certain are you.”

The doctor swallowed at the tight anger in the man's voice. “Ninety-nine percent certain.”

“That's enough,” he muttered to himself, pacing towards the door. “That's enough. That's enough.”

He stormed out into the street, his fists clenched by his sides. Diablo stuck to his side. He got into his car, slammed the door behind him, grabbed hold of the steering wheel and screamed. He shook the wheel with enough vigour to shake the entire car, still screaming curses and threats at the air, at the whole town. He fumbled his key into the ignition, unable to quite see through his blurred vision. His breaths were panted as he finally managed to start the engine, speeding down the road and screeching around the corner up the hill.

Holly was in the dining room, with her usual personalia. She glanced up as the door was shoved open and shoved shut with enough force to shake it in its hinges. Ricky's face was streaked with tears, his cheeks wet, and his eyes were wild and unfocused and bordering on animalistic. The dog slipped past him, hurrying over to the nearest food bowl. She dropped her pen.

“Good Lord, Ricardo. What happened?”

“She was murdered,” he whispered, raking his hands through his hair in one hard movement before grabbing two fistfuls. “She was murdered. Poisoned. Someone killed my _mamá_. Someone- She-”

“What are you talking about?” She got to her feet, cool and collected, although her heart was skipping beats at a time. “Ricardo, look at me. What's bothering you?”

“The doctor said she was poisoned,” said Ricky tearfully, his words shaking. “Someone killed her. Someone took her from me and I'll never- I'll never be able to get her back.” His voice grew angrier, if no less tearful. “They _took_ her from me. THEY TOOK HER!”

Holly blanched at the fury in his voice. “Ricky, please, sit down.” She pulled out a chair, but he didn't sit. He was too busy pacing. “You're still mourning. You haven't even mourned properly yet. There's stages, Ricky. Anger, denial-”

“I'm going to find out who did it,” he hissed, cutting across her. “I'm going to find out and I'm going to tear them apart.” He swallowed hard. “They took away my heart. They took away my soul. This is it, for the rest of my life.”

“Ricky, sit. She wasn't poisoned. She-”

“She was. She was. The doctor said.”

“Ricky, listen.” She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder; she'd never been too good at this. “Sometimes things are as black and white as they seem. The doctor was just wrong about her time of death. Unfortunately we can't ask him now, but-”

“She was strong. She was strong, she wouldn't have died so suddenly. I- I have to-”

He disappeared out the door. She heard his footsteps pounding up the stairs, down the corridor above. They came back swiftly. He was pulling his holster on over his shoulders, the gun shining at his side. Holly hurried out to stop him, but she was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. Ricky barreled past her, and she didn't bother to follow. It wasn't like she could physically stop him from doing what he was about to do.

First was the Minister.

Ricky shoved open the doors to the church, letting them swing shut behind him, closing out the light. He kept his coat buttoned in order to hide the gun underneath, but the Minister was frozen in panic anyway. He was standing on the altar, halfway to lighting a red wax candle, the flame chewing up the long match. Ricky's footsteps knelled as he strode up the aisle, his gaze burning. The Minister immediately hurried around behind his altar, clutching hold of his Bible as Ricky came right up the steps.

“Mr Goldsworth?”

Ricky stopped on the other side of the altar, one hand pressed to the white linen. His eyes didn't leave the man's face. Not for even a second. “Where were you on the night my mom passed. Answer. Quick.”

“I- I can't quite remember, I-”

“You can remember every fucking tidbit of information that you stick your nose into,” snarled Ricky, leaning forwards a tad, as if about to pounce. “So spit it out. Where were you.”

“I believe I was here, Mr Goldsworth,” breathed the Minister, his grip white knuckled on his Bible, and the gun inside. “I was holding a mass. Yes, an evening mass. Then I, oh, I held Confessions. Then there was tea and sandwiches. And after that I went over to the bar on the Boardwalk and had a sherry. Then I went home. I went straight to sleep.”

Ricky narrowed his eyes at him as he stumbled his way through his alibi. “Right.”

The Minister swallowed hard, shrinking under the intense glare fixed on him. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he left. The doors swung shut slowly behind him, echoing. The Minister closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Then he took his pistol from the Bible and checked it was fully loaded. He hid it away again before picking up the phone. The man's voice was as lax as always.

“Tinsley.”

“Oh, thank goodness you're there.” The Minister whispered the words into the phone. “Ricky is on a rampage. Something's wrong.”

There was a pause. “Okay. Right, I- Oh, I think he just passed my door.” Another pause, listening. “He just went into Banjo's office. I'll see what's wrong with the little demon."

* * *

 

“Where were you?” spat Ricky, leaning across the desk, his face inches from the chief's. “Where were you, you oaf?”

“I was here!” squeaked Banjo, his arms crossed in front of himself, his shoulders hunched. He seemed awfully small in his chair. “I was here! It's on the roster! It's in the book, I signed in and signed out! I was here! Don't hurt me, please!”

Ricky straightened up as the door opened, whipping his head around to throw a glare over his shoulder at the newcomer. “What? What is it?”

“What are you doing?” Tinsley held the door open with one hand, his other hand on his hip. “What's with the yelling and the screaming?”

“Screw your work.” Ricky shoved past him, striding off down the hall. His gloved hands were clenching into fists over and over by his sides. “Where's Fear. Where's the little prick.”

He flew down the steps outside the station, hearing a pair of footsteps following. The people in the street had stopped, watching Ricky storming across the empty road to the office. He didn't knock. He barged right in, the door hitting off the wall. Darla sat at her davenport, cigarette in one hand, book in the other. Her face dropped at the sight of the man in the doorway. She stayed silent as Ricky crossed the small reception and disappeared into the office. Tinsley hurried after him, throwing a sidelong look at Darla. His face was anxious. She pursed her lips, going back to her book. It wouldn't do to get on her fiance’s bad side so soon.

“Where were you?” Ricky had the old man by the collar, hauling him halfway off the chair as he shouted in his face. “Where were you the night my mom died? Where were you? Answer me!”

“Ricky. Ricky!” Tinsley grabbed his arm, pulling him back a step. “Cool off, alright? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ricky pulled his arm out of the detective’s grip, rounding on the trembling Fear again. “Answer me. Now. Quick. _Now_.”

"Ricky, back the hell off!"

Ricky swiped Tinsley's hand off him, his own hand reaching out to shove the detective back a step. "Get out, Tinsley. Get out!"

"Leave him alone!" Tinsley recoiled as he heard the hiss of a blade being flicked open. He felt it against his throat seconds later, hard enough to force him back against the row of filing cabinets. They rattled with the impact. He raised his hands, looking down his nose at Ricky. "Careful. Careful, okay."

"Get out of the room," growled Ricky through gritted teeth. "Now."

Fear finally snapped back to reality, his voice hoarse as he spoke as quick as he could. "I was at home, Mr Goldsworth. I can't go far nowadays, my leg's gone all funny. Can't drive, can't walk far."

Ricky didn't take his eyes from Tinsley's. He didn't take the knife from his throat either. "And where were you."

Tinsley's brows drew together. "I was with you."

"Oh. Yeah." Ricky flicked the blade shut, turning away from the hurt look on the detective's face. "It had to have been one of you. It had to have been."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" insisted Fear, still gripping the edge of his desk. "I was at home. I was at _home_."

"Right." Ricky's eyes darted around the room, as if for some hidden assailant. Then he turned on his heel and left. The silence was heavy.

"I thought you said you were keeping him distracted," said Fear, smoothing down his now-rumpled shirt. "He doesn't seem too damn distracted to me, big fella."

"I don't know what he's found out," muttered Tinsley, staying leaning back against the cabinets. He rubbed at his throat, where he could still feel the cool metal. "I don't know why he did that."

"No one ever knows why he does anything," grumbled Fear, turning back to his typewriter. His face was still pale. "And you're a fool if you think otherwise. You're a fool if you think you've got the boy figured out. He's going down the same route as his accursed grandfather, and I'd say good luck to you if you're going to try and stop him."

There was a light knock on the door before Darla pushed it open. She let herself tilt inwards, one hand on the door frame and one on the handle. "Holly's on the phone for you, Tinsley. She says it's urgent."

He nodded, smoothing down his tie as he strode over to the phone and picked it up. "What is it. What's wrong with Ricky."

"Meet me at the restaurant. Tonight. At half six."

* * *

Holly sat in the late evening light. It made her grey coat seem gold. She didn’t look up when Tinsley sat across from her. She wasn’t really looking anywhere. She was staring into the distance, far over the sea, a strangely sad look on her face. Homesick. Tinsley didn’t care.

"What is it," he demanded. "What happened to Ricky."

She didn't respond to his question. “Do you remember what I said the other night?”

"What?"

“When I said men who follow Ricky to bed don't tend to come back.” She let her gaze drift back out to the horizon. “I hope you don't think there’s some secret message in there somewhere. There isn’t, you know.”

“...No. No, you’re lying.” He shook his head, folding his arms on the table between them. “Prove to me you’re telling the truth.”

“There’s a type of spider,” she said, almost dreamily. She seemed off, almost as if high on some sort of drug. “ _Latrodectus hasseltii_. It eats its mate after copulation. The mate can usually only survive if it lives on the outside of the web and steals leftovers. That’s the only way to survive around Ricky. Stay away from him and get rid of what carnage he leaves behind.”

Tinsley fixed her with an unblinking stare, a mix of confusion and suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

She pressed her lips together in a line, a line that wasn’t as hard as it usually was. “You’ve seen the graveyard.”

“Don’t threaten me again.”

“Tell me, did you notice anything odd?”

Tinsley watched her blank face. “No.”

“Nothing at all about the names?”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Mm. It took me a while too.” Holly took a sip of her coffee, taking a few long seconds before she swallowed it. Then she said: “There’s no women.”

Tinsley felt the chill set in instantly, so much so that he was entirely frozen in place. He didn’t speak another word. He left her alone, and he got into his car and he drove the ten minutes out to the graveyard so quickly it was five minutes. It started raining in the interval. He hurried out of the car, pulled open the rusted gate, striding right over to the first row of graves with his fists clenched by his sides. There was a fresh one being dug right then, the gravedigger hunched over it with his shovel driving into the dirt over and over. He had a weather-beaten face. He looked like he’d seen the world begin and the world end and would see it all happen many times again. There was a coffin beside the grave, plain. Tinsley stood beside it, his stomach churning.

“Who?”

The gravedigger looked at the coffin like he’d forgotten it was there. He went back to digging. “Waiter.”

“Waiter?”

“From the ship.” He spoke like he had a piece of wheat hanging eternally from his teeth. “Drowned. Down the beach.”

Tinsley wanted to leave it at that. He really did. “...How?”

“Horsley found ‘em tied up. All bloated. Didn’t know who he was but for his ol’ uniform.” The gravedigger tutted, still shovelling away. “Another one gone.”

Tinsley’s eyes darted around the gravestones, the ones that were still legible, not fallen apart or crumbling like the older ones. It was men. It was all men. He strode along the row, his unblinking eyes reading each one. He counted the years; they were all between twenty-three and thirty-five. He swallowed hard, folding his arms across his chest, hugging himself tight. The rain was so light it was like a mist, dusting his face and hair with damp. He felt ill. He fumbled his notebook from his pocket and jotted down the names. When he got back to the town, Holly was still in the restaurant. Her coffee cup was empty. Her gaze was too.

“Tell me.” Tinsley placed the page down in front of her, sitting down. “How. How did each one of them die.”

She dropped her gaze to the names. She placed a finger on Henry P. Reilly. “Strangled in his sleep.” Her finger traced downwards, reeling off what she could remember. “Throat slit. Stabbed in the chest I can’t remember how many times. Smothered.” She stopped speaking. Her face was taut. “All in their beds.”

“Christ.” Tinsley scrunched the piece of paper up. He couldn’t bear to look at it. He shoved it into his pocket, deep down. “He kills everyone he dates.”

“He doesn’t date,” said Holly, looking at him over her glasses.

“So he fucks them then he kills them. I know. I was just trying to be polite.”

“Don’t. Being polite will just get you killed.” She lowered her gaze, lips pressed in a line. “I warned you. A long time ago, I warned you. You didn’t listen. I suppose it’s half my fault; I’m not good at being friendly. I say the wrong things almost always, but all I’m trying to do is save lives. Lives I don’t even care about.” She looked at him again. “If you went to Ricky now and told him you wanted to leave, do you think he’d let you?”

Tinsley stared back, his face stiff. “No.”

She hummed in agreement. “I'm trapped here too, you know. Always have been. It was just easier to ignore when it was Lucy I worked for.”

Tinsley's gaze drifted as he began to realize just how deeply he'd dug himself into this hole. He pushed a hand through his hair, letting it curl in it. "I'm going to die here."

"As am I. As are all of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before any of y'all are like "but why doesnt anyone sneak out?" it's explained in part 3 and i didn't want to end the chapter with a really long-winded explanation.
> 
> i live and breathe drama


	9. What They Don't Know Will Hurt Them

It was raining again. It was raining a lot recently. Tinsley stood outside the manor, under the carved stone porch. The water dripped off the curved edges. He watched the individual drops. He was wasting time, purposely. He heard a car pull into the driveway, wheels crackling on the stone. Holly got out, opening her umbrella for the half a minute's walk to the front door. She looked at Tinsley as she passed, a flat look. Her voice was just audible over the pattering rain.

"I used to think you were smart, you know."

He rolled a cigarette around in his fingers, but he didn't want to smoke it. His mouth felt too dry. "I'm going to talk to him."

"About what."

"About letting me leave."

She stared at him for a moment, hand raised to knock on the door. She shook her head, mournful. "I cannot, and I really _cannot_ , stress enough how much of a foolish idea that is. My God, Tinsley. Have some cop on."

He tutted, gaze lowered. He looked tired; she wasn't too surprised that he probably hadn't slept well. "Well what else am I supposed to do?"

"Lay low, and do what he says." She finally knocked on the door. "Lucy's not around anymore, detective. He's off the leash, and he's having a great time being off it."

The door opened. The Mayor took Holly's wet coat and her umbrella, hanging one up and placing the other in the brass umbrella holder. He eyed Tinsley worriedly before taking his coat too. The detective loosened his tie, a grimly determined look on his face as he eyed the upstairs landing.

"I believe he's expecting you, sir," said the Mayor quietly. "He's in his room."

"Of course he is."

Tinsley started towards the stairs, feeling a bit like a man being waved off to war as Holly and the Mayor watched him go. Lucy sat in her frame, watching him too. 

Ricky's room was empty but for a dog on the bed. Tinsley stared at it. The dog lifted its head, ears pricked. For a moment they simply stared. The dog put its head back down, but its eyes didn't leave Tinsley. It growled as he passed the bed. Tinsley walked a bit quicker, towards the door to the bathroom.

He pushed it open. The room was full of steam. He attempted to brush it aside; it swam around his fingers, soft as a lover’s touch. Perhaps not his lover’s touch, but someone’s. He heard the water swishing in the bath. _Sly. You sly, sly bastard_.

“Tinsley, baby?”

Tinsley gritted his teeth at the word. He knew it was meant to be a term of endearment, but it never really made him feel quite endeared. The way in which Ricky let it slip off his tongue always gave him the coldest of chills. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“Of course it’s you. Close the door, would you?”

Tinsley lowered his gaze. He should really leave. He wanted to talk to Ricky about something that had been niggling at him, and this wasn’t the ideal setup he’d had in mind. The heat was oppressive. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, his eyes raising as he saw movement. Ricky was somewhere in this room, and the sensation had Tinsley feeling like he was being hunted.

“I can wait until you’re decent.”

“I don’t want to be decent. It never quite suited me.” A foggy silhouette moved, the sound of swilling water joining in. He could see the bath now, see Ricky lounging back in it. “Surely you of all people don’t want me to be decent.”

“...I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Tinsley moved forwards a few steps, watching Ricky turning in the bath to face him, arms folded along the ceramic edge. His black eyes glittered through the mist. Tinsley didn’t look away from them. His heart was thumping in his chest, an unpleasant sensation. Ricky smiled, letting his head fall into the crook of his elbow. His skin was smooth and shiny with the bathwater. He let his mouth part, leaving it like so for a few seconds before he spoke.

“Do me a favour, would you, darling?”

Tinsley swallowed at this, rolling up his sleeves. “Like what?”

“Light me a cigarette.” He raised a wet hand. “I can’t.”

Tinsley took out his own box. He crouched down beside the bath so that he was eye level with the other man, not that he was looking at his eyes. He was looking at the man’s parted lips, watching as he placed the cigarette between them for him. He struck a match, letting the cigarette catch. He looked into those black eyes, and they looked back. He waved the match out.

“I don’t know if this is the best place to discuss this.”

“Oh, please.” Ricky rested his head back in his elbow, letting his other hand trail along the edge of the bath. It moved softly until it wrapped itself around the ceramic, tight enough to make Tinsley notice. “You’re not feeling at a disadvantage, are you?”

Tinsley let his gaze trail up from the hand, up along the man’s arm, up to his shoulders; the shape and strength wasn’t as pleasing as it usually was. “Amn’t I always.”

Ricky’s mouth curved into a smile. He took a drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke curl out between his lips and mix with the steam around him. “What do you want to discuss.”

Tinsley opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. He just watched as Ricky pushed himself halfway out of the water, his hands still holding the edge of the bath, his wet torso bare inches from Tinsley’s mouth. He closed his eyes as he felt Ricky’s hand run back through his hair, curling around to guide his head in closer. Tinsley didn’t resist. He pressed his lips to the man’s damp skin in a lingering kiss. He raised his hands to take hold of his waist, pulling him forwards into another soft kiss, feeling the fingers still running through his hair, deceivingly gentle. He kept his forehead resting against the man’s body, his lips still parted, dampened.

“What did you want to discuss,” said Ricky again, quiet, mocking.

Tinsley swallowed, closing his mouth. His hands trailed down the man’s sides, fixing around his hips. “I don’t know.”

“You said it was important.” His own mouth parted as he felt the kisses being pushed harder into him, increasing in intensity, going lower, making his fingers curl tighter in the man’s hair, a harsh breath escaping. “Was it important?”

“No.” Tinsley squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head aside. His cheeks were flushing furiously. “I mean yes. Yes, it was important.”

Ricky scowled at this. He lowered himself back down, keeping his head tilted, lips brushing the other man’s. “Then spit it out.”

Tinsley didn’t open his eyes, but this was almost worse. All he could feel was Ricky’s fingers gripping his hair, his breath hot on his mouth. His brows drew together as he felt the tongue brushing his lips, a slow movement from bottom to top. He couldn’t think; his brain had short-circuited. His hands took hold of the man’s neck, and he pulled him forwards into an open-mouthed kiss, their tongues brushing, low sighs mingling. Tinsley let a hand slide down the other man’s back, his heart skipping beats in his chest as he felt Ricky’s mouth working against his neck. He panted for breath, letting his head tilt back, one hand grabbing hold of the other man’s dark hair to keep him against his throat.

“Fuck.” His other hand slipped off Ricky’s body and grabbed hold of the edge of the bath for balance, for something solid to hold onto. He felt Ricky’s hand claw into his shoulder as the man pushed himself halfway out of the water, his face buried under Tinsley’s jaw, mouth working hungrily. “Oh fuck. Ricky. _Fuck_.”

He grabbed hold of the bath again, feeling lightheaded, faint with the heat. He kept his mouth open as Ricky kissed it, and had he been in control of his own mind he would have wondered how Ricky had commandeered the situation so effortlessly. But he wasn't in control of his mind, and he was wondering nothing of the sort. His eyes were heavy lidded as Ricky pulled away, his face flushed.

“Wait for me outside,” muttered Ricky.

The reply was breathless. “Okay.”

He went back into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser as he tried to cool himself down. He was here to talk. Nothing else. Nothing else. He closed his eyes as he felt warm hands slip under his shirt, damp against his skin as they pushed down into his trousers. Ricky was smiling like a Cheshire cat; he could see it in the mirror in front of them.

“Couldn't last a day without me, no?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Ricky turned him, walking him back towards the bed as he unbuttoned the man’s trousers. He pushed him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him, straddling his hips. The feeling of the man’s hands brushing up the insides of his thighs was too soft to be safe, pushing up under the dark fabric of the robe. He took hold of them, pinning them against the covers either side of Tinsley’s head. The detective swallowed.

"The dog. That's new."

"Yeah." Ricky raised an eyebrow, pausing before his mouth reached the other man's. "And?"

"It's making me uncomfortable." Tinsley turned his head to look back and up at it. The dog was still watching him. It let out a low  _boof_. "I don't think he likes me."

"I don't think so either." Ricky smiled, looking at the dog. "Diablo, down."

The dog did so instantly, trotting in a quick circle before wandering out the door to either pester the cat or pester the Mayor. It was going to pester someone, anyway. It was determined to. Tinsley looked back at Ricky.

"You're training him, are you?"

"Bit of a habit of mine." Ricky sat back, letting his robe slide off his shoulders, off his arms, and to the floor. "Why? Are you jealous of a dog, _amante_?"

"No."

"Good. There's no need to be." He kissed him, and it wasn't loving, or careful. It was just a kiss. "I'd put you more or less on the same level of importance, after all."

Tinsley let himself be kissed, and for the hundredth time he wondered why. He wondered why he let Ricky touch him, hold him, close but always at a distance. But he didn't get the chance to finish his thoughts; he never did when Ricky was on him. Tinsley rolled them, pinning the other man under him, their mouths hot with friction. He didn’t care. He’d kiss him until he bled if given the chance. He slipped his fingers through Ricky’s, pressing the man’s hands back against the covers either side of his head, a shiver going through him at the feeling, the sound of the low moan Ricky let into his mouth. He broke off, his eyes drifting open, studying Ricky’s face, his glittering eyes and flushed cheeks and soft lips. He kissed him again just to taste him, their bodies locked together, entangled against the covers. They did what they always did recently; made love with a cold passion, let their fingers dig into each other like they'd rather tear each other apart than let each other go. Afterwards Tinsley stayed in the bed, facing away from the other man with tears in his eyes. He heard Ricky get out of the bed, get dressed, all while muttering under his breath. He left the room quickly, and left Tinsley in the bed, just like he'd left his dog barely an hour beforehand.

* * *

Ricky sat at Lucy’s old desk. It was a nice desk, nice and long and wide, situated in front of the largest window in the house, with a nice glass banker's lamp for when the window lost its use. He was skimming through a black diary in front of him, his gaze trawling over it. Tinsley sat on the other side of the desk, his arms folded across his chest. He spared a glance at Diablo, who was still staring, unblinking, accusatory. There was no wagging of a tail. Tinsley lit a cigarette as he watched Ricky; for once, the man seemed quiet, contemplative. Tinsley didn’t like this. Ricky was a dangerous person, and the only thing that had been holding him back had been his tendency for stupidity and recklessness. Without them, the future looked awfully dark.

“How much longer do I have to sit here for?” asked Tinsley, his gaze flat. “I’m beginning to feel a whole lot like a dog at your beck and call.”

“I told you I was working.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

Ricky looked over the top of the diary at him. His eyes were as black as the diary’s cover. “Well that’s just unfortunate.”

Tinsley tutted, getting to his feet. He crossed to the drinks cabinet, spying the clock on the wall. It was half one in the day. He never used to drink this early. He picked up the decanter, eyeing the golden liquid swilling around inside. He placed it back down, added some ice to his glass, and decided on the water. He turned to find Ricky watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Water.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Right.”

Tinsley didn’t sit. He stood by the desk, one hand in his pocket. “I’m not allowed drink water, am I not?”

Ricky didn’t look at him. His fingers tapped against the diary’s cover. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

“Guess.”

“My grand romantic wedding.”

“Got it in one.”

Ricky closed the diary over, placing it aside. “You’re mad.”

Tinsley took a mouthful of water. He regretted his choice of beverage already. “A little.”

“We were never going to go anywhere. Not seriously.”

“That’s great to hear,” muttered Tinsley.

“If you thought different,” said Ricky coolly. “Then you were fooling yourself.”

“I know. I was a fool in general. I always am with you.” Tinsley still didn’t look at him. His gaze was lowered, pensive. “So the wedding's all planned.”

The silence was taut. “Yes. Every last detail.”

Tinsley lifted his head, taking a deep breath. “I’m leaving.”

Ricky stared at him. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move a muscle. “Leaving.”

“Yes.” He finally looked at him, and was immediately reminded as to why he’d been avoiding doing so. The look on the other man’s face could’ve shattered stone. “I won’t be coming back.”

Ricky just stared at him, his eyes glassy. His face was devoid of any particular emotion. “Just like that.”

“Well you’re getting married.”

“No. No, I’m not.”

Tinsley’s brows drew together, his head inclined. “What? You just said the wedding-”

“The wedding is happening,” said Ricky quietly, sitting back in the chair, elbows resting on the arms. “But I’m not getting married.”

Tinsley didn’t know how to respond to this. He watched him closely. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t make it much clearer.” Ricky eyed the diary sidelong. “I won’t be marrying Darla. I won’t be marrying anyone. Ever.”

Tinsley placed his empty glass down where he’d got it from. He kept his back to Ricky, lighting a cigarette. He spoke around it. “And how did you manage to change the lovely Ms Horsley’s mind.”

“I didn’t.” Ricky’s voice was strangely tinny. “She doesn’t know.”

“And the families?”

“They don’t know either.”

Tinsley stood across the desk from him, trying to search for an answer in the other man’s eyes. They were as impenetrable as onyx. “You’re not making any sense.”

Ricky shrugged his shoulders, resting his chin in his hand. “Are you going to leave me anyway?”

Tinsley raised an eyebrow. He took a risk and said: “Probably.”

“So dare I say this is you proposing that we end our little affair.”

“I suppose.”

Ricky pursed his lips like he’d been told a slightly-pitiful story. “Shame.”

Tinsley waited. He waited for something to explode, to implode, to break. “...Are you going to let me?”

“Of course. You’re a free man. Always have been.” Ricky sat back, legs crossed at an angle. His wrists draped off the end of the chair’s arms, fingers rubbing calmly against each other. “But do me a favour and wait until after the wedding.”

Tinsley went quiet. “Why.”

“Because the next two days are going to be very stressful for me,” said Ricky, flicking open his own tin of cigarettes and taking one out. He snapped the tin closed. “I’ll need something to relieve me.”

Tinsley arched an eyebrow at this. “I’m not going to hang around to have sex with a man I just told I’m leaving.”

Ricky’s lip curled for a split second before he got it under control again. “You won’t find anyone who fucks you like I do, Tinsley. If this is it, then let’s do each other a favour and get it all out of our systems before you go. I think that sounds very fair, seeing as I’m allowing you to go anyway.”

Tinsley smiled bitterly. “How kind of you. But what if I said no.”

“Then you’ll never leave this town,” said Ricky lightly, taking a drag on his cigarette before continuing. “And you won’t be getting any favours from me.”

Tinsley gave a single shake of his head, looking away from him. He didn’t reply for a long few seconds. “If I stay until after the wedding, will you let me go.”

“I said I would.”

“Give me something. Some promise.” Tinsley sat down, reaching over to stub his cigarette out in the ashtray between them. “Something to show you won’t backtrack.”

Ricky’s smile was more of a sneer than anything else. “You don’t trust me.”

“No, I can’t say I do.”

“Well that’s your problem, isn’t it.” He spread his hands, the cigarette still smoking in one. “I have no real reason to keep you here, Tinsley. You know a lot about what I’ve done, but at this point if you told anyone, you’d be viewed as an accomplice. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“So there it is.” Ricky’s eyes were cool and sharp. “You’ll be free as a bird.”

Tinsley watched him in silence, his eyes flickering around the man’s face, looking for a crack, a chink in the armour. Nothing. He may as well have been a statue. “Okay.”

Ricky waited until the detective had left before moving again. He opened up the diary, re-reading the long list of names he’d written in. Then he dipped his pen in ink and added one more name. He scratched it in nice and quick, with a flourish.

 _Tinsley_.

* * *

_The grass was spongy under his feet. It was a pleasant feeling that he didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate. He was running, his footsteps pounding the grass and the moss that lay under it. He wasn’t sure what he was running from, but it was terrifying, more terrifying than anything he’d ever encountered in his life. The gravestones flew by either side, pale milk white in the dusk. He let out another frightened cry, hearing the snarling behind him, the snapping of fangs, of a bloody maw. He threw a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, seeing the figure dragging itself around another gravestone, half-crawling in its determination to get him. The man’s suit was shredded, his shirt stained with blood such a deep red it was black._

_“No.” Ricky’s voice was mumbled as he ran. He could see the building looming out of the fog, as if it was coming towards him, and not him towards it. “No no no no. Please no.”_

_“Ricky.” His father’s voice was grated like stone against steel. “My son. Mine.”_

_Ricky fell up the steps to the manor, scrambling in the door. He tried to close it, pushing at it with everything he had. His hands slipped against the wood, slick with sweat. It wouldn’t budge. He backed away as his father crawled up the steps to the hall, moving with unnatural jerks. The blood swung thick from his jaw._

_“Get away from me.” Ricky took the stairs two at a time; they were dusty, cobwebs between the banisters. Everything was two shades too grey. “Mamá! Mamá, help!”_

_The paintings along the walls were twice as large as they usually were, each Goldsworth looking down on this imposter. Ricky shielded his eyes from them, ashamed at the fact that he wasn’t who he said he was, that he’d never been who he said he was. He was someone else. He skidded to a halt beside his mother’s bedroom door, banging his fists on it._

_“Mamá! Mamá, please let me in!” He could hear the wet snarling as his father drew closer. He hid his face against the door, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut as the tears leaked out. “Someone let me in. Someone.”_

_He heard a yelp, like a dog having its tail be stepped on. He looked over his shoulder with wide watery eyes. His grandfather stood a few steps away, holding his father by the collar like he was nothing but a nuisance. Alejandro inclined his head, looking at him with burning black eyes._

_“You want to be like me.” He gave Ricky’s father a sharp shake. “Not like him.”_

_Ricky nodded, his face still pressed against the door, hands curled against it. “Yes. Yes, I don’t want to be him.”_

_A guttural laugh. His father looked at him from where he was on his knees on the rug. “You don’t have a choice. You’re me. You see this?” He wiped a hand across his mouth, smearing it in blood. He held it out, palm up. “This is in you. You have my blood. Mine.”_

_Alejandro looked from Ricky’s father to Ricky himself. His skin was beginning to burn away, slowly, like paper. He took something from his pocket, holding it out. “Do it.”_

_Ricky stared at the knife. He sniffed, looking back at his grandfather’s face, at eyes so identical to his. “...What?”_

_“Do it. And you’ll be one of us.”_

_Ricky stared at him. He stared at all the painted faces; they stared back, bloodthirsty. He put out a shaky hand, taking hold of the blade. He turned it in his hands; it was gilt, ceremonial. Sacrificial. He looked back at his father, who snarled around the dripping blood._

_“You won’t. You wouldn’t dare.”_

_Ricky could almost taste his heart beating in his throat. He looked down his nose at his father, closing the space between them. His grandfather watched with eager eyes. Ricky crouched down in front of his father, looking right into his eyes. He could smell the blood and death coming off him in waves._

_“You’ll always be alone.” His father’s eyebrows raised, helpless. “Always. No matter what you do.”_

_Ricky stared at him. He stared at his grandfather. They were two ghosts who had been haunting him from the second he was born, whether he'd noticed or not. In his skull, in his mind, always there from the first. He straightened back up and looked at the knife again; it seemed to glitter in his hand, so enticing. His father was right; he would always be alone. But not if he wasn't him anymore._

_He lifted the knife to his own throat and slashed, so quickly it took a second before the blood realized it was supposed to start pouring. It ran down his neck, stained his white shirt red, ate through the fabric like flames through wood. It all stung, sweet as a dream. He fell to the floor._

Ricky woke in a cold sweat. He lightly brushed a hand across his throat, waiting for his fingers to turn wet and warm. They came back dry. He sat upright in the dark, his eyes darting around the room. The curtains floated softly in the light breeze coming off the balcony, not too much unlike ghosts. He ran a hand through his hair; it was damp too. He pushed it back off his face as best he could. He got out of bed, wrapping his robe tighter around him. The woods outside were dark and deep, looming over the gardens. Everything was in black and grey, shades of moonlight. He went over, outside. He lit a cigarette. The tip glowed. It was the only colour in the world.

Diablo nudged his leg, putting his head through the stone balustrade and out into the night air for a sniff of the world outside. Ricky gave him a distracted scratch behind the ear.

Something fell over in the corridor. Ricky turned his head, squinting at the door, waiting for it to open. No one came in. There was another clatter, another object hitting the floor outside. Ricky muttered under his breath, crossing the room. He cracked the door open, just a tad, hearing Diablo snuffling as he tried to stick his head out.

“Mayor? Is that you?”

There was no response but for a loud bump as something heavy hit the carpet. Ricky froze, his shoulders tense. He tried again.

“Mayor? Jim? John? Whatever your name is?”

Again, no response. Ricky swallowed. He cracked the door a bit more, letting Diablo slip out into the corridor. He was growling, hackles raised. Ricky automatically reached into his pocket for his switchblade, but there was no pocket, and more importantly, no switchblade. He stuck to the door, poking his head out. Then he exhaled sharply.

“Victoria.”

She was sat on the telephone table, distractedly batting photo frames with her paw. Holly had clearly forgotten to let her into her room to sleep, and she was therefore in quite a mood. She batted at another photo. It thumped to the floor. She looked at Ricky expectantly. She was now out of photo frames to hit off the table, and wished for them to be placed back for her leisure. Ricky shook his head, letting Diablo back into his room and closing the door. He frowned at the growling dog.

“Oh be quiet, would you?”

He simply growled louder, poised to pounce. Ricky followed his gaze to the shadows. He wouldn’t have seen anything but the shadows if it wasn’t for the glint of moonlight off metal. A figure came towards him, masked, but it slowed. It slowed at the sight of the dog. Ricky stared at the assassin, unblinking. He didn’t feel afraid. He didn’t feel anything at all. Diablo took another two steps forwards, snarling now, drool dripping to the floor. The assassin backed away all the more; they clearly had not been expecting more than Ricky. They were edging towards the balcony, hoping to have been unnoticed, for a defense tactic rather than an offense one now. Ricky stayed where he was, watching with black eyes. He wondered who sent them, who sent a masked assailant to off him in his sleep. Anyone. Everyone. He didn’t care enough to find out. In twenty-four hours, it wouldn't matter anyway. He spoke the word quietly, the word Diablo was waiting to hear.

“Attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys the next few updates are probably going to be daily!! because i actually have them all written, seeing as they were some of the first things i wrote for this fic (i always write the ending first so that i dont bail). so yay!!!


	10. Final Touches

The Minister answered the phone. “Fitzgerald.”

The Mayor replied. “Apologies, Minister. I must have called the wrong number.”

He tried the chief of police. Banjo answered with his usual hearty hello. The Mayor explained he must have called the wrong number. He tried Fear. It was Darla who answered, and she confirmed that the doctor was indeed in his office. The Mayor thanked her and put the phone down. Holly watched his face worriedly.

“Any of them?”

“They're all alive, ma'am.”

“Then what were the stains on Ricky's floor?”

“I can’t fathom.”

She tapped the end of her pen off the table, her chin in her hand. “Try Tinsley.”

The Mayor's brow furrowed. “He wouldn't…”

“He might have.”

The Mayor rang him. It took a few rings before the phone was picked up with a groggy “Tinsley”. He sounded drunk, or hungover, or just tired beyond his years. The Mayor gave the same excuse he gave the others, and put the phone down.

“Alive, ma'am.”

Holly worried at the end of the pen with her teeth. “Perhaps it was just wine.”

“Perhaps.”

She placed a cigarette in the small ornate holder, lighting it with a match. The Mayor watched with raised brows, disapproving. She tutted.

“Oh, what. I'm stressed.”

“Very well.”

Fran poked her head in the door, deciding then to knock. There was a black diary in her hand. “Holly, can I talk to you?”

Holly seemed to debate it for a moment, bordering on suspicious. “As long as it's not some daft game you're playing to wind me up.”

“No, no, it's serious.”

“Look at this.” Fran dumped the black diary on the table in front of Holly, over her accounts book. “I was wondering where it was, because you know, it’s my thing. But look at the most recent page.”

Holly looked up at her with narrowed eyes, wondering if this was all some prank. She wouldn’t put it past Fran to do such a thing. She placed her pen down, placed her cigarette in the ashtray, and opened the diary to the correct page. It was Ricky’s writing, looping along the lines. Her eyes read each name, unblinking.

“And he hasn’t told you about these at all.”

“No.” Fran shook her head, dumping herself down in the seat beside her. “No, it was hidden in his room, in his dresser.”

Holly pressed her lips together in a line. She turned the page, seeing even more names. “I see.”

“Darla’s name is on it.” Fran tapped the name in question with clear upset. “Why would he want her dead?”

Holly didn’t respond. She inclined her head at the last name, her mouth parting. “Tinsley is on it.”

Fran rubbed a hand over her mouth, her eyes round as she looked at the page again. “How. How is he going to kill so many people. Why Darla? Why Tinsley?”

“I have no idea.” She pressed two fingers to either side of her head, rubbing her temples. “Where is Ricardo? Is he still out?”

“He said he was going down to the harbour,” said Fran, folding her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “He said he had some final touches to add to the ceremony.”

“Final touches?” She pursed her lips, linking her hands together under her chin as she thought this over. “Did he give you any other details? He has to be back before the families arrive.”

Fran feigned disinterest. “Are they going to be staying up here again?”

“Most likely.” Holly gave her a disapproving look, closing over the diary and handing it back to Fran. “Stay away from that Laya. She's up to no good.”

“Aren't we all.”

Fran wandered out the door, eyeing the guards still standing outside. There were guards everywhere now. She assumed for the wedding, for protection. A loud screech made her jump, whipping around to see Victoria barreling down the hall from the kitchens. A dog was following, its tail wagging madly. Fran scooped Victoria up into her arms, feeling the little claws dig into her as the cat got as high up from the floor as it could. Fran kicked at Diablo.

“Stay! Down!”

It gave her a disdainful look before trotting back off towards the kitchens for more grub. It was becoming more of a nuisance with every passing day.

* * *

Tinsley put the phone down, his hand staying loosely around it, a frown on his face. He wondered what that was about.

“Who was it?”

He moved away from the phone, back into the bed. “No one.”

He kissed him, and Ricky kissed him back, rolling them so that he was on top. Tinsley let him take over again, his eyes fluttering shut, his mouth parted, his hands tracing down the man's ribs, down his waist, taking hold of his hips. Ricky's hands slid up his chest to his neck, taking a tight hold, Tinsley gritting his teeth. Ricky's eyes were cold and hard, watching the other man's face as he rode him roughly, feeling the fingers claw into his hips fierce enough to hurt. He let Tinsley roll them again, pin him down against the tangled sheets, their bodies flush against each other. After a few minutes he could feel Ricky pushing forwards, attempting to flip their positions. Tinsley took hold of the man’s wrists, holding them down against the bed as he continued rutting into him, not letting go until Ricky was moaning with each breath, his dark hair sticking to his skin. Tinsley hated him. It was easy to hate him; he was rich and beautiful and could be the most charming of men, and really had everything going for him. And he wasn’t grateful for any of it. Ricky finished with a harsh moan. Tinsley didn’t make a sound at all.

They lay for a while in silence. Ricky made himself at home, lighting a cigarette and pouring himself a drink and throwing one of Tinsley’s shirts over him as an attempt at decency. Tinsley sat up in the bed, arms loosely linked around his knees.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Ricky smiled, dropping onto the bed beside him. “I suppose I am.”

“Excited for your happy-ever-after, hm?”

Ricky’s smiled turned sly. “Most definitely.”

Tinsley let the man straddle him, accepting the offer of a cigarette. He let Ricky light it for him too. “Are you going to miss me?”

Ricky’s gaze trailed over his face. “Every night.”

“Huh. I’m glad you thought so highly of me.”

Ricky leaned forwards, his nose brushing past the other man’s. “Are _you_ going to miss _me_?”

Tinsley placed two fingers under Ricky’s chin, guiding him forwards into a kiss. “No.”

“Not even at night?”

“I’m sure a brothel will sort that out.”

Ricky looked down his nose at him. Then he sat back, swallowed the rest of his drink in one, and got off the bed. He got dressed swiftly, hearing Tinsley do the same. The detective pushed a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to make it sit properly as he headed for the door.

“Let yourself out.”

Ricky narrowed his eyes at this. He followed him out the door, followed him across the street. It was a busy day, and there were more people than usual about. There were people decorating the church, there were a few families who had arrived early for the ceremony tomorrow. He knew the rest of them had probably arrived already, up at the manor. He didn't care. Tinsley paused on the other side of the street, turning to look at him with a flat look.

“Why are you following me.”

Ricky eyed the people in the street again. Then he smiled and said: “I just wanted to do something.”

He pushed up on his tiptoes and kissed the detective right on the mouth. A few people stared. Tinsley fumbled to push him back a step, his face flushing bright red. Ricky smiled.

“I told you,” said Tinsley icily. “Not in front of people. Stop fucking me around here.”

“Because you don't want people to think you're mine.”

“Exactly.”

“Well the truth is that you are, Tinsley. And you always will be.” He gave him another light kiss, not that Tinsley returned it. “I'll see you tomorrow, baby. Nice and early.” He winked over his shoulder. “And wear that red tie you have of mine, would you? Looks good on you.”

Tinsley watched him go with narrowed eyes. He turned these narrowed eyes to the Minister up on the church steps. Fitzgerald gave him a sheepish smile as the detective came up the steps to him.

“What time is the meal scheduled for tomorrow.”

The Minister checked the notebook in his hand. “Immediately after the wedding, it says.”

“Can't make it sooner, no?” he said bitterly, watching Ricky's car weaving back up the hill towards the manor. “I just spent all morning being used as a damn toy. Yeah, I hope you're uncomfortable. I'm the one doing all the damn work here.”

“Aye, I suppose you're right.” The Minister moved into the church; there were white flower with bright green leaves all along the stonework. The altar was covered in a snowy white linen. “But by this time tomorrow, we'll be rid of him.”

“And then I can finally just leave,” muttered Tinsley. “And go back to Chicago. I never thought I'd miss that place, but I certainly do now.”

“You'll leave?”

“Yes, I'll leave." He looked back over his shoulder at the manor on the hill. "And I'll never come back.”

* * *

Ricky didn't have a coat to hand to the Mayor. It was a lovely sunny day, and the weather was warm and pleasant. He could hear their voices already, the cackling, coming from the sitting room. Ricky rolled his sleeves more firmly around his elbows as he moved towards them. He stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for them to go quiet. He didn't have to wait long. Jeanne got to her feet first, giving him as unenthusiastic an embrace as always.

“Oh congratulations, Ricky,” she smiled, fluttering her dark lashes. Her eyes were a blue so clear they looked false. “This time tomorrow you'll be a married man! How wonderful.”

He stared at her for a long moment, searching her eyes. She raised her brows in confusion. He smiled before saying: “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She seemed a bit puzzled at this. She stepped aside, letting him move further into the room. He moved forwards slowly, eyeing the two others. One of them had done it. One of them had sent that assassin into his room. One of them had been too impatient to wait until a better time. One of them had been humiliated and was too hot-headed to wait to serve vengeance cold. Ricky stopped in front of Junior. The man stilled sported two blackened eyes and a bruised lip. He was watching Ricky warily. Ricky watched back, still smiling just a tad. He let his gaze flicker to Laya. She swallowed the drink in her mouth, sitting back and resting an elbow on the arm of the couch. Which one had done it? Either of them. All of them. None of them. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that he acted as if nothing had happened at all.

“Have all of you settled in?” he asked, quite calmly indeed. They were giving each other odd looks. “The place has been a bit quiet since you left.”

“I doubt that,” snorted Laya, tucking her legs up under her on the couch. “If that detective is still around.”

“Where do you have him?”grinned Junior, taking a mouthful of brandy as he sat back and rested an arm along the back of the couch. “Leashed out the back?”

The word ‘leash’ had a newcomer skid into the room. Diablo bounded up to Ricky, rising onto his hind legs and pushing at him for a walk. Ricky let a hand drift down to give his head a scratch.

“Oh.” Jeanne eyed the Doberman warily, especially its ever so large teeth. “You... got a dog.”

“Mm. I did.” He let Diablo snuffle at his hand, smiling at her. “He came pretty much trained too. He knows sit.” Diablo sat. “He knows roll over.” Diablo rolled over, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “But I had to teach him a trick or two.”

Junior sat more upright as Ricky turned his gaze to him. Jeanne shuffled away behind the nearest armchair. Laya’s drink was frozen in her hand. She was watching the dog with wide eyes.

“I taught him a trick that I think I’ll get a lot of use out of.” Ricky smiled again. “Do you want to see it?”

Jeanne shook her head firmly. “No thank you.”

Ricky turned his head to look at her. Then he pouted. “Aw. That’s too bad.” He looked back at Laya. “Maybe some other time.”

He sat down on an armchair, crossing his legs. He lifted his glass aside and the Mayor came and filled it for him. Diablo lay at his feet, head resting on his crossed paws. Jeanne eventually sat down too, on the edge of her chair. She folded her hands on her lap. The silence lingered. Laya looked around the room, a dark eyebrow arched in disapproval. 

"Where's Francesca?"

 Ricky took a mouthful of his drink. "Around."

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" asked Jeanne brightly. 

He looked over the rim of his glass at her. "Without a doubt."

"How're you gonna put a baby in her?" asked Junior, very much crude. "What're you gonna do all night?"

Ricky could hardly stifle his smile. "Celebrate."

His friendliness unsettled them. The rage in him had subsided somewhat, the fire was quenched by something, some unknown source of relief. It had them all on edge. Ricky was, for once, civilized, and the charm to him was more terrifying than any other trait he'd ever acquired.

* * *

"He's different with you, Tinsley," said Fran, her shoes loud against the wood boards below. She could see the water swirling below. "You're the only one who's... lasted, so to speak."

Tinsley held his cup in both hands, tapping his fingers against it in an erratic rhythm, not too unlike his heartbeat. "Oh."

"Sometimes I think he's in love with you," she said quietly, giving him a sidelong look. "And sometimes I think you're in love with him. But you're both too afraid to say it in case the other doesn't say it back."

Tinsley's face flushed a light pink. He turned his head away, towards the sea, where the sky was the same colour as his cheeks now. "You think he loves me."

"Sometimes." She chewed on her lip, watching the small section of his face she could see. "But that's not a good thing, Tinsley. He's very possessive of the things he loves. To the point of danger. So much of it was taken away from him it's like he can't stand the thought of losing anymore. He won't stand the thought. And he'll do terrible things to get rid of that thought even having the chance of becoming reality."

Tinsley came to a halt. He turned aside, resting his elbows on the wooden railing. His gaze was lowered, watching the soft waves below. "I can't love him."

"But you do."

"I don't know. I can't." He pressed his lips in a line. "Sometimes you get that thought, you know. Where you think you can change someone."

"Ricky doesn't get changed," said Fran ruefully. "He changes everyone around him."

"I know that now. I know I was an idiot. I always am." He rubbed the back of his neck, letting his hand stay hooked around it. "I used to think I was smart, you know. Rational. But I'll be damned if I can think of one moment in my life where I used my head instead of my heart."

"Maybe you're not too unlike him after all." She muttered the last words into her coffee. "The issue is that the heart he uses is rotten to the core."

Tinsley looked at her, brows raised. "You don't like him?"

"Living with him is like being in a cage with a wild animal," she said, turning to face him, an arm resting on the railing. "It doesn't matter whether or not I like him. What matters is that he likes me."

Tinsley looked thoughtful. He looked back out at the water. "Why are you helping me."

She smiled softly, her voice softer. "I was a detective, you know. Before I came here. It's the reason I was here. I was _sent_ here."

Tinsley stared at her in stunned silence. "What? I- I don't believe you, to be honest."

"I was. I was meant to be a pair of eyes on the inside." She smiled slyly. "But I began to really like the inside, and I closed my very valuable eyes to the outside world. This place is heaven, when you're not on the Goldsworth's bad side." She leaned forwards the whisper. "It's Holly you have to keep an eye on, you know. She goes away, it'll all crumble before you know it. And I've tried a few times."

Tinsley turned to face her more directly, leaning on the railing more heavily. "That night, at the party, when you were in Holly's room. What were you doing?"

"Looking for the gun she used to kill the waitress," she replied simply. "But I'll be damned if she's ever let me get even a finger on a shred of evidence about anything she's done. But you're lucky I was who I was, Tinsley. Otherwise I would've pulled the trigger that night on the Monty."

"That's why you let me live. Because you didn't want to get recognized by a force out of town."

"Bingo." She winked at him, raising her coffee cup like a beer. "Great minds, hm?"

"Well I'll be damned, Fran." He laughed, looking back out to sea. "Maybe I should just hang around, hm?"

"No, you're not safe here," she replied, blunt and to the point. "And you're not doing Ricky any good. He's fallen for you and he's hit his head a lot of times on the way down."

"I can't help that I'm so irresistible."

"Now isn't the time," she said through her stifled smile. She gave one last tip before she left. "Love can be a fact or a weapon, Tinsley. It's your choice. It's the only choice you can make in the world right now."

Tinsley watched her small frame grow smaller as she continued on down the Boardwalk. She didn't look back. She wasn't a woman who made a habit of looking back on her actions; it was very rare that she had to. He wished he was more like her. He looked back over his shoulder at the manor, letting a sharp breath out through his nose. So he did have a weapon, a way to fight back. He hadn't told Banjo he was planning on leaving. He hadn't told any of them. How could he? He couldn't turn to them, and say he was going to abandon them as soon as possible. He didn't want to be here when Ricky was poisoned, he didn't want to see him choke to death in front of the whole town. But there was a way to kill two birds with one stone. Save the townsfolk, and save Ricky.

He tossed his still-full coffee in the bin as he headed back towards the street, and his car.

* * *

It was a warm night. Hopefully it would be an even warmer day tomorrow. Ricky stood on his balcony, blissfully alone. He looked over the gardens, at the stables, where he'd left Diablo for the night, in with the horse. Ricky couldn't risk having a bad night's sleep. He needed to be sharp, just in case anything went wrong. He wandered back into his room, topped up his drink, wandered back out. _This time tomorrow_ , he thought to himself. _This time tomorrow I'll be truly free_.

He didn't hear the door open, he only heard it close. He looked over his shoulder at where Tinsley stood against the door, hands pressed back against it. Ricky gave him a sidelong once-over, taking a slow sip of his drink. He turned his head away again before saying: "Not tonight."

Tinsley's reply was stiff. "What do you mean."

"We're not having sex tonight," said Ricky lightly, still surveying the gardens. "I have a busy day tomorrow. We both do."

His voice was closer now. "I guess I just wanted to see you."

Ricky replied dryly. "How romantic."

"I guess." Tinsley stayed at the table at the end of the bed. His fingers toyed with the stopper in the decanter before leaving it alone. "But you're not one for romance, are you."

"No."

"Well- Well I am." Tinsley swallowed hard, going back to the decanter. He wasn't sure what was in it; brandy or scotch or whiskey. It didn't matter. He poured himself a glass. "And I wanted to ask you something before I left."

Ricky kept his back to him, his gaze lifting up and aside. He turned on his heel in a slow movement. Then he crossed to the table and sat down. "Of course."

Tinsley stared at him, unblinking. He swallowed a hefty amount of his drink. When he spoke, the words were tight in his throat. "Was there ever a chance for us? Ever a moment?"

Ricky seemed a bit surprised at such a question. But even though his mind was still trying to figure out an answer, his mouth got there first. "No."

"Not ever?"

"Not ever."

Tinsley blinked at this. Then he lowered his gaze, rubbing at the pointed end of his nose. "Okay. I suppose I needed to hear that."

Ricky looked down at the table, under which his hands were fidgeting, hidden away. “...Are you going to miss me?”

Tinsley’s reply was quiet. “Everyday.”

He sat on the chair beside Ricky, looking at the man’s face. He seemed troubled beyond words, chewing on his lip, his eyes unfocused. Tinsley rested his hand on the other man’s, stopping it from fidgeting. Ricky looked at him, still with those big round eyes that seemed so heartbreakingly childlike. The words were out before he even noticed, his voice hoarse.

“Come with me.”

Ricky stared at him for a moment. Then he blinked. “What?”

“Run away with me. Today.” Tinsley took hold of his hand in both in own, tight. “Now. Right now.”

Ricky seemed entirely caught off guard. He didn’t move an inch. “What?”

“You and me.” Tinsley swallowed hard, feeling the tears clogging his throat. “Don’t say no. Please.”

It took a few minutes before Ricky whispered his response. “I can’t.”

“Please, Ricky. Come with me.”

Ricky searched his eyes, his throat working. “And go where? Chicago?”

“No. No, not Chicago.” Tinsley readjusted his grip on the other man’s hands, refusing to accept the fact that his hand wasn’t being held in return. “Somewhere where it’s just me and you. I don’t need anyone else. I don’t _want_ anyone else.”

Ricky’s mouth parted, his eyes watery. “I can’t. This is my home.”

“Ricky, just-”

“Don’t do this.” Ricky shook his head slightly, swallowing. His knee was bouncing. “Don’t do this to me. Not now.”

“Not now?” Tinsley went quiet at this, his gaze going distant. He let his head hang. When he spoke, the words were hollow. “So if I’d asked earlier, would your answer have been different?”

Ricky didn’t even blink. “No.”

Tinsley let out a deep breath, letting his head fall onto his hands, where they still held Ricky’s. He looked awfully small, shoulders hunched. “Why.”

“Because this is my home.”

“We can make a new home.”

“I can’t,” breathed Ricky, slipping his hand from the other man’s, watching Tinsley fingers curl into fists. “I can’t just leave. I can’t just lose.”

“Even for me.”

Ricky shook his head. “You won’t always want to be with me. I’m- I’m not a person people want to stay with. I’m not.”

Tinsley turned his head away, folding his arms on top of his knees, still folded over as the other man stood up. “Okay.”

Ricky looked down at him, at the way he shrunk in on himself. Maybe the detective was serious. Maybe he did want to run away with him. But how could he trust him? Maybe it was all a scam, maybe they were all in it together. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk losing what his mother worked so hard to give him. He couldn't. He had to wipe the slate clean, start anew. Without any distractions. Distractions were downfalls in disguise. Ricky’s fists clenched, nails cutting into his skin. His eyes narrowed.

“You can go.”

Tinsley went still. Then he looked up at him, his brows raised and drawn together. “What?”

“Go. You’re making me sad.” Ricky moved to the drinks, topping his one up a generous amount. “I don’t have time to be sad.”

He didn’t turn back around as he heard the detective eventually stand up, the chair scratching on the floor. He didn’t turn around as he heard the footsteps crossing the room to the door, but they didn’t leave. There was a silence. Ricky’s teeth hit against the rim of his glass as he took an unsteady mouthful.

“You just broke my heart, Ricky Goldsworth.” The words were shaky, with sadness or anger it was impossible to tell. “You just broke my fucking heart.”

The door slammed. The footsteps stormed away into nonexistence. Ricky held onto the edge of the drinks cabinet to stay upright, overwhelmed with a sudden lightheadedness. He lit a trembling cigarette, biting down on it once he managed to get it between his teeth. He found his way to the couch, flopping down onto it and screaming into the cushions. He cried until he wore himself out, slipping away into sleep. The Mayor found him at midnight. He put a blanket over him and left a glass of water on the floor beside him. Then he too went to bed.


	11. Halidom

Darla looked at herself in the mirror. She smoothed down the white skirts of her white dress, the white lace scratching her white hands. She adjusted the white veil in her dark hair. She let Jeanne come up to her again, dab a bit more pale pink rouge along her lips. The woman smiled.

“You look wonderful.”

Darla looked at herself in the mirror again, gaze flat. Her skin was covered in smooth cream make up, her lashes long and black. Her cheeks were dabbed with the same rouge as on her lips. She didn’t like any of it. “I look like you.”

Jeanne smiled brightly. “I know!”

Darla looked at her handbag, where her usual dark lipstick sat hidden away. She felt naked without it. “This is going to be a long day.”

“And an even longer night,” snarked Laya, getting to her feet. She wore the same dress she’d worn to Lucy’s funeral; entirely inappropriate. “How are you going to do it, huh? Maybe get the detective in to help you out.”

“Shut up.” Fran stood in front of Darla, taking her hands in both of hers with an encouraging smile. “We’ll be sisters, Darla. Think about that.”

Darla thought about it. She pressed her lips in a smile. “That will be nice.”

“Francesca?” Laya swanned over to the door, pulling her long black gloves on up to her elbows. “Will you be a doll and help me out with something?”

Fran rolled her eyes, snapping her bright yellow suspenders with attitude before following. Darla sat; she found it a bit difficult in the flood of skirts from her dress. She sighed wearily. The sound of a small bottle hitting the table top beside her made her jump, eyes widening as she looked at it. Then she looked up at Jeanne’s eager smile. Darla looked back at the bottle before whispering: “Is that it?”

“That’s it. Cyanide.” Jeanne straightened back up, silk gloved hands folded at her waist. “Just a few drops in whatever you can get it in. During the dinner, during the reception, whenever. Just make sure he takes it.”

Darla chewed on her lips, eyeing the small bottle. “All of it?”

“Oh, most certainly.” Jeanne leaned forwards, giving the other woman's skirts a poke. “I sewed a pocket in last night! Just keep it in there and bring it out when you can!”

Darla took the bottle. It was hardly bigger than her index finger, and made of a dark glass. A tiny cork was popped in the top. There was no label. After trying for a few minutes to locate the secret pocket, she put the bottle in.

* * *

“You look very well, sir.” The Mayor dusted Ricky’s shoulders off with a fabric brush, giving him a rare smile in the mirror. “Lucy would have loved to see you.”

Ricky looked at himself, at the black and white and stiff fabrics and tight tie. He hated it. He felt like a tiger in a cage much too small. He rolled his shoulders, attempting to loosen up the fabric. He pulled at his waistcoat, letting his hands brush down to slip into his pocket and retrieve his cigarettes. He lit one up, sucking on it like he was drowning and it was air.

“It’s a perfect fit, sir,” said the Mayor, sounding a bit rueful.

“Yeah?” Ricky walked in a small circle, spreading his arms slightly. “Where’d you find it?”

“It was your grandfather’s, sir. For his wedding.” He tilted his head from side to side in consideration. “Well, I did have to hem the legs a little.”

Ricky slowed, giving him a sidelong look. “Right.”

The Mayor nodded, backing out of the room. Ricky shrugged off his suit jacket instantly, tossing it onto the bed. He’d never liked jackets. They were too restraining. He didn't actually mind the waistcoat; the back was patterned, a dark gold paisley, not quite unlike some of his shirts. He held his cigarette between his teeth as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and poured himself a glass of wine. It was a day for wine, a day for celebration. He wandered over to the balcony. It was a warm day, sunny and dry. There wasn’t a hint of wind in the air. It was, without a doubt, perfect.

* * *

Tinsley took another mouthful of his drink. He smoked another cigarette. He tied his tie and untied it and tied it again, just to occupy his hands. He was filled with dread at even just the thought of a wedding. Even more so because of who was getting married. He couldn't stand the thought of having to see him again after the night before. Tinsley ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in his small living room. Maybe he could skip town now. Maybe he could simply get his stuff and get into his car and drive away and never come back. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything of the sort. He hadn’t said goodbye yet. He closed his eyes, slowing in his pacing, all the way down to a halt. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t say goodbye at all. No, he had to. The worst thing you could do to someone was leave without saying goodbye.

There was a single knock on the door. “Hullo? Tinsley?”

Tinsley felt the stress lift off his shoulders just a little. He opened the door with a smile. “Banjo. Lovely day for a wedding, isn’t it?”

“So it is.” Banjo gave him a small smile from behind his moustache. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m good.” He closed the door behind him as he stepped out into the corridor. “You’re looking very dapper.”

“As are you.” Banjo smiled again, ambling down the corridor beside him. “I’d say you had to get those trouser legs tailored, hm?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Tinsley grinned at him, giving him a nudge. “Have you lost weight, or is the waistcoat doubling as a corset?”

“Oh, shucks.”

They crossed the road towards the busier side of the street. The townsfolk had been joined by folks from other towns, and families important and unimportant were crowding the church steps, waiting to file in. Tinsley fought the urge to crack out another cigarette.

“Quite the turnout, hm?”

“Oh, yes.” Banjo tottered up the steps, wiping at his face with his handkerchief. “Some of these folks haven’t been here in years. Since Lucy and her husband got married.”

Tinsley stepped aside as another cask of wine was carried up the steps. He whistled through his teeth. “Going to be some festival, isn’t it.”

“They tend to be.” Banjo watched the casks being maneuvered through the door to the church, shaking his head in awe. “They must have some amount of cash, Tinsley. You should’ve seen the amount of wine they were bringing in here last night. Stacked to the heavens!”

“Yeah?” Tinsley peered around the church, the air filled with warmth and chat and the sound of footsteps on marble and wood. “Doesn’t seem like that much.”

“They wanted it stored in the attic space.” Banjo took a seat a few rows from the front, beside Doctor Fear, who appeared to be falling asleep. “I’d say there was some cider too. Couldn’t all be wine! We’d be dead come evening.”

* * *

He was already late. He knew he was, but he didn't care. He had to be late. He had to be later than all the rest. He heard Francesca hurrying down the hall, knocking on his door as she went past. She was late too, after insisting she go down and help Darla get ready. This had been a bit of a bump in his plan, but she'd come back, and that was all that mattered.

He checked his watch, brows raised. Then he placed his drink aside and went out onto the landing.

“Ricky!” Holly waved at him from the door below, impatient. “Come along. You can’t be later than the bride.”

He remained on the landing, hands resting on the smooth wood banister. He didn’t speak. His face was oddly relaxed. “I’m not getting married.”

“You are getting married,” said Holly firmly, standing between the Mayor and Fran. “You can’t refuse now.”

“I never accepted.”

“Get downstairs and into the car,” said Holly, just bordering on stamping her foot. “It’s just one day, Ricardo. And then everyone will be gone.”

He gave her an odd look, his lids heavy. “I know.”

The Mayor turned his head as he felt a hand take hold of him by the elbow. He looked at the guard in question, an eyebrow raised. “Sorry, what are you doing?”

“What the- Get off me.” Fran pulled out of another guard’s grip, feeling another pair of hands catch her by the shoulders instantly. “Get off! Ricky, what in the hell is going on? Tell them to let me go!”

Holly was in stunned silence as two guards began escorting her back into the hall. Her gaze was blank, unfocused. Then she looked back up at where Ricky stood regal on the landing. “Ricardo. What in the world are you doing.” She shrugged a hand off her shoulder, digging her heels into the ground. “Get off me. Get your bloody hands off me. Get off! Ricky!” She was being dragged now, back into the dining room. “Ricky, tell them to let me go! RICKY! James! James, you-”

The Mayor’s hand brushed hers as he was pulled in the opposite direction, back towards the kitchens. “Holly!” He pushed at the guards, but they weren’t interested in letting go anytime soon. “Mr Goldsworth, sir! What are you doing?”

“Ricky!” Fran kicked out, one guard holding her around the shoulders, another around her legs. She struggled furiously. “Ricky, what’s going on?!”

He smiled. Her heart dropped into her stomach, her eyes widening. She struggled harder, screaming out.

“Ricky! Darla’s down there! Darla’s _there!_  RICKY!”

He ignored all three of their voices, each as panicked as the other, until they were locked away in their respective rooms. He undid his bowtie; he wouldn’t be needing it. He tossed it over the banister, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as he walked solitary down the corridor and into his grandfather’s old room. It had the best view, after all.

* * *

The chattering in the church had grown quiet. They'd been waiting a while now. Tinsley picked at the end of his sleeve, picked it until it began to become threaded. He kept picking. He felt at odds with himself; today would be the day Ricky would die, and the thought had him torn between relief and anxiety. His mind couldn't seem to decide. It had simply settled on feeling lifeless.

“Is it rude to crack open one of those casks?” asked Laya flatly, legs crossed and painted lids heavy. “I’m dying for a glass of wine.”

Fear checked his watch again, sniffing. “I guess the boy is really dreading this ceremony, eh? Most men do.” He cackled.

Banjo readjusted his collar around his neck, peering behind him towards the closed doors. He saw Tinsley do the same, their movements mirrored. Tinsley turned back around, staring straight ahead, but he wasn’t feeling lifeless anymore. There was something bubbling in him, rising through his chest. He saw Fear check his watch again. He let his gaze drift aside, watching the rainwater drip and drip and drip into the small puddle it was forming on the ground.

“Where the hell is the little prick?” Branson Senior glowered from under his thick brows, pulling at his cuffs. “He knows no one really gives a fuck. This isn’t building any bloody excitement.”

His son grunted his agreement. Tinsley let his gaze travel over the faces, seeing that the mocking smiles were all but gone. Jeanne played with the end of her silk glove, scowling over her shoulder at the doors, which were as closed as before. The sun shone bright behind them, bloody through the stained glass. Tinsley glanced at the Minister, who seemed a bit fed up of standing at the altar by now. He patted his Bible distractedly, like a mother with her baby. Darla was sitting on the altar steps, looking altogether unimpressed in her white dress. Her fingers twitched; she wanted a cigarette. Banjo took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at his forehead. It was a bit stuffy. Tinsley got to his feet, shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it on the edge of the pew beside him. He smoothed down his shirt and waistcoat, sparing another glance at the door. No movement behind it. No Ricky. No Holly. No Mayor. No Fran. Just him and some townsfolk and Ricky’s enemies. Tinsley walked in a circle just to stretch his legs. He listened to the rain drip from the roof to the marble floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. It looked greasy in the pale sunlight.

“Is he being serious?” Jeanne got to her feet, hands on her hips, ignoring her parents trying to shush her. “We’ve been waiting here for about half a damn hour! Where is he and his stupid family?”

“I say we go up there and drag him down,” said Junior, also getting to his feet. “Just finish the fucking job. It’s all a sham anyway.”

Tinsley watched the rest of the families nodding in vicious agreement. He bit on his thumbnail, watching them go for the door. He had to squint against the sun. The rainwater dripped beside him. He felt a chill up his back, taking his hand from his mouth. He stared at the windows, at the sunlight coming in. He stared at the rainwater on the ground, dripping steadily from the ceiling. Drip. Drip. Drip. He crouched down beside it, running a finger through it. It felt oily.

“Key!” Jeanne waved at the Minister, pointing at the door. “Unlock the stupid door!”

The Minister slowed in his wandering. “I didn’t lock the door.”

Tinsley stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t raining. It was sunny but somehow the roof was leaking. He sniffed at the oil, his brows drawing together. Oil leaking from the ceiling. He looked at the Minister questioningly. The Minister didn’t seem to understand what his look meant, just raising his brows in return as the snapping families grew louder, more impatient.

“It’s bloody locked!” Branson pulled at the handles, shaking the doors in their hinges. “Get the bloody key, you buffoon!”

“I don’t have the key!” said the Minister, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Mr Goldsworth said he needed…” He trailed off.

Tinsley stared at him, at his blank face. He saw Banjo get to his feet. The building had gone entirely silent. Tinsley crossed to the nearest cask. He beckoned at Branson and his son with urgency.

“Open this,” he said, pointing at the cask. “Open it. Quick.”

“Drink?” Branson grinned widely, striding down the aisle with his son in tow. “Well if we’re waiting, why not?”

They tapped it open in seconds, experts. The liquid glugged out, clear and greasy and not the luscious red wine they had been expecting. It spread across the wood below, slick and smooth. Tinsley breathed the words, barely able to hear them over his blood pounding in his ears.

“It’s oil. It’s all boat oil.”

Branson stared at him, his bushy brows rising to show his eyes for once. They were frightened. The Minister straightened up on his altar, holding his Bible tight. Tinsley turned slowly, taking it every single cask he could see; there were so many, so many now that he was looking for them. They were stacked in the corners, laid alongside the pews, stored in the church’s roof. Tinsley moved down the aisle, striding fast, refusing to run, to show how the fear he’d felt bubbling in him had now spiked right through his heart. He pushed Jeanne aside, trying the doors again, shoving at them with his shoulder. He shouted up the church.

“Fitzgerald, where’s the key!”

“For the last time, I don’t have the key!” he shouted back. “Mr Goldsworth asked for it so I gave it!”

Tinsley turned back, trying the door again with vigor. Nothing. He could hear voices. He put an ear to the stained glass; there were people outside, but they sounded unsettled, their murmured voices rising. Then a black shape passed the glass, making him step back. Another shape passed. Guards. 

“Why is there boat oil?” Laya rose with the rest of the murmuring crowd, her dark brows raised. “What does that mean?”

Tinsley hurried back up the aisle, up the steps to the Minister. “Why did Ricky take the key.”

“I- Oh my-”

Tinsley heard the low exclamations. Then the screams reached him, rising in a macabre chorus. He turned, seeing the flames spreading under the church doors, chewing up the oil that ran along the wall. It was spreading fast, impossibly fast, swallowing the floor. He stared up at the ceiling with large eyes. He dropped his gaze, watching Laya struggling to put out the end of her dress, stamping on it, but it didn’t matter. The flames were licking along the carpet, crackling fiercely, forcing people back up the aisle. The pews creaked and shook as people clambered to get out of them. Tinsley backed away up the carpeted steps, quickly moving onto the marble. He heard heels clicking as Darla hurried to follow. The Minister stared at the oncoming flames with baffled eyes. The smoke was filling the church quickly, blinding. Junior swept at it, crying out.

"Dad! Dad, where-"

The stack of barrels to the left of the aisle exploded in a plume of fire, broiling black and red and yellow, so high it brushed the ceiling. The heat was so intense it singed Tinsley even from the opposite side of the building. This time the screaming didn’t stop. He could see people flailing, striking at the flames spreading up their bodies. Tinsley covered his face with his arms as the next few barrels burst with a roaring sweep of fire, smoke billowing out, gathering under the ceiling. The ceiling. The oil had been coming from the ceiling. Tinsley finally snapped into action, realizing his breaths were trembling, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Get out! How do we get out!” Tinsley shoved at the Minister, hearing another round of shrieks, another burst of flames screaming into the air. It was deafening, making his head ring. The flames were spreading impossibly quick, swallowing the wooden columns up the aisle, the heat already unbearable. It flew through the air like liquid. “Go! Go, you-”

One scream stood out, even among all the others. Tinsley skidding to a halt on the marble, eyes wide even against the heat. He could see him, stumbling across the aisle, limbs flailing a ball of fire. Tinsley screamed his name, but it wasn’t heard, it couldn’t be heard. The church was half-swallowed by the fire, it roared, it screamed louder than all the other voices put together.

“NO! NO, BANJO!”

Tinsley felt a hand on his arm, dragging him away, and they were barely in the dark side aisle when the entire world shook. There was a terrifying rumbling, a monstrous creature approaching through a tunnel. Tinsley ran. He ran and ran away from the screams but they’d be with him for the rest of his life. He stumbled to his knees as the Minister tripped over his own robe, the two of them landing hard on the marble. They scrambled against the wall, arms around their heads to keep out any falling rubble, anymore horrific screams. Darla grabbed hold of the Minister’s Bible, her eyes wide and wild as she flung it through the stained glass window beside them. She scrambled out, her dress ruffled and scorched by the heat, her white gloves turning red as the shattered glass cut into her hands. The earth shook uncontrollably. Tinsley scrambled out after her, feeling tears of panic running hot down his cheeks. The Minister was screaming at him to hurry, but he couldn't hear his words over the other screams, the guests and the fire and the terrified townsfolk outside. The building roared, and it didn’t stop for an eternity. For Ricky, far up the hill, watching, it was the sweetest eternity he'd ever experience.

* * *

The wailing reached him the second he pushed open the car door. The smoke rose thick and black enough to block out the sky itself. The Mayor stared in horror at the smouldering rubble, at the townsfolk weeping around him, holding each other, looking at the slabs of stone that were once a sanctuary. He raised his hand to his mouth, moving towards the ruins. He passed the Minister sobbing on the stone steps, his face buried in blackened hands. The marble handle of a cane was visible between his fingers. He could see someone in the rubble, stumbling blindly before they fell to their knees. The scream reached him, cutting through the smoke, long and wailing like a banshee. It was more pained than any of the others combined.

It was Tinsley. He was holding something in his arms, someone, charred beyond recognition. The detective didn’t seem to care. Tears were streaked down his face, through the soot that stained it. He looked up as the Mayor came closer, the rubble sliding under his feet. He thought he saw a hand under the stone, a crisped red dress. He looked away from the bodies below, his stomach churning as he made his way to Tinsley.

“You- You-” Tinsley couldn’t seem to get the words out; they were furious, furious words, but he just couldn’t fit them out his throat. His fingers gripped the body in his arms. “He did this. He did this. He did this to me.”

The Mayor glanced back at the manor, far up on the hill. He'd been waiting in the kitchen, quiet, fooling himself that there was nothing truly wrong. It took him a moment to realise that the plume of smoke he could see out the window was in fact coming from the town. He'd stood aside before, stood aside as innocent people were murdered for no reason but personal justice, or more simply put, revenge. So he'd slipped out a hidden door, and there wasn't a chance any of the guards would be able to find half the doors the Mayor knew about.

He'd driven down towards the town, watching the church's roof leap from the rest of the building before it all crumbled inwards like a pie crust. The screams were distant but blood-curdling nonetheless. The Mayor was too late. He was always too late.

He crouched down beside Tinsley. “You have to leave. You have to leave now.”

“I’ll kill him.” Tinsley spoke quietly, his eyes back on Banjo’s face. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill the bastard.”

“He’s already on his way down,” said the Mayor, urgency creeping into his voice. “He’s going to kill you if he finds you still here. You have to leave.”

Tinsley looked up at him, his eyes watery, spilling over. His voice was hoarse. “He didn’t deserve to die. He was good. He was a good man. I don’t- I don’t understand.”

The Mayor pressed his lips in a line, his eyes round. Then he took Tinsley’s arm and pulled him to his feet. He led him down the steps, through the crying crowd, and bundled him into the car. Darla was already in the back seat, as pale as her dress, her eyes glassy. He started the engine.

“I can leave you past the beach,” he said, driving a bit faster than usual. The engine growled. “Then you go west. West through the woods, and onto the next town. If you reach the river, you’re over the border, and you’re safe. And you never come back.”

Tinsley didn’t respond. His eyes were wide but he wasn’t seeing anything. The Mayor glanced at him in the rear view mirror, chewing on his lip. They drove in silence for the next twenty minutes. Then he pulled over along the grass, across the road from the sea. Tinsley finally spoke.

“Why are you doing this?”

The Mayor didn’t reply for a long few seconds. He looked over his shoulder at him, his eyes stuck to Tinsley’s. “I promised Lucy I’d keep her son safe. I can’t break that promise, only because it’s Lucy. But if no such promise had been made, I’d do to Ricky what I did to his grandfather.”

Tinsley’s brows drew together in confusion for a second. Then his eyes widened. “You-”

“I killed him. I killed the bastard after he killed that family. I shot him with this very gun here.” He tapped the one under his arm. “I’m stuck in a stalemate with the dead, detective. Now, I’d advise you keep running.”

Tinsley reached over the seat, giving the man’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. Darla whispered a thanks. Then they scrambled out the door and took off into the woods a few meters away. The Mayor sat where he was. He searched the glove compartments for cigarettes, finding an old box of Lucy’s cigarillos. He lit one and smoked it. Then he drove back to hell.

Ricky passed by him in the hall, Lucy's rifle from her office clamped under his arm. He didn't even look at him. The Mayor turned to follow him, his heart skipping in his chest.

"Sir, where-"

"I saw you," said Ricky icily, striding towards the kitchens as he shrugged his black coat on over his shoulders. "I saw your car. Who was in it."

"No one, sir. I just- I wanted to drive."

Ricky stopped at the back door of the kitchens, glaring over his shoulder at him as he tugged his black gloves on over his hands. "It was him, wasn't it. He lived. He always fucking lives."

"Sir, I-"

"Enough." Ricky crossed the cobblestones to the stables, yanking them open. Diablo bounded out instantly, tail wagging as he ran in small circles around him. "He's not leaving. He told me he'd never leave, and I'm going to hold him to his word."

The Mayor watched in pale-faced silence as Ricky saddled the horse and pulled himself up onto it. He gave the Mayor one last look, deathly calm. The rifle shone where it was tied to the reins.

"I'll be back soon."

He kicked the horse into a canter, and Diablo raced after him. They went into the woods a few yards away, blending into the densely packed trees. The Mayor stood by himself for a long time. When he went back into the manor, he found Holly still in the dining room. Her grey hair was falling from its bun. Her eyes were reddened behind her glasses.

"How many?" she whispered.

"All but three."

Holly looked sidelong at him. "Three?"

"Fitzgerald, Miss Delaney and Detective Tinsley," he replied. "The rest are gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes."

"Where's Tinsley?" She rose to her feet. "Where-"

"I left them as far as I could. Mr Goldsworth has just gone to follow them."

Holly stared at him. He stared back. It was a familiar exchange of glances, one from a long time ago. _Should we do something? And if so, what should we do?_ Holly tucked the few loose strands of grey back behind her ear. She checked her gun was in the holster under her arm.

"Get Fran, and get to the car." She sniffed, striding down along the table towards the hallway. "I haven't saved many people in my life, but I suppose it's not a bad time to start."


	12. Ownership

"How much further?"

"I'm not sure. I've never been this far out of the town before." Darla was limping slightly in her shoes; they were heels, small ones, and they were beginning to pinch her. "I don't even know what river he was talking about."

Tinsley stopped at the next clearing, hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. He wiped a hand down his face, feeling the beard scratching his hands. He looked at Darla.

"Are your hands okay?"

She checked the cuts from the stained glass. "I think I should clean them again."

He went with her to the slim stream they'd been following for the last hour. It had to lead somewhere, to some bigger stream, which would then lead them to the river. He hoped. She washed her hands again in the water. He washed his face, pushing his wet hands back through his hair. He couldn't see his reflection; it was fractured on the small ripples of the water. He touched it with a finger.

"We have to keep going," said Darla, pushing herself back upright. She stumbled a bit in her get-up, tugging angrily at the white skirts of her dress. "Oh for God's sake! This stupid piece of crap dress!"

Tinsley lifted his head as the dense cloud about started letting loose a rain so fine it was almost mist. He sighed heavily as he stood up. They kept walking. He checked his watch. Darla threw him a worried look.

"Would you say he'd be after us by now?"

"Without a doubt." Tinsley looked back over his shoulder, not that he could see anything but the trees. "And we're going to be pretty easy to find. We look like a bride and groom who each decided to run away on their wedding day and accidentally bumped into each other in the woods."

Darla pressed her lips together in a dry smile. Her hands vanished into the hidden pocket in her dress. It retrieved a small dark bottle. "We still have this."

Tinsley eyed it. "Happily-ever-after in a bottle."

Darla swallowed hard. She shoved it back into her pocket, deep down. "Would you say they're all gone?"

Tinsley went quiet. "Yes."

"And the Minister?"

"He won't be alive for long. Ricky hated him."

"Ricky hated everyone."

Tinsley swallowed. "I know."

They continued on. He was getting hungry; fear did that to a person. They were going up a slight slope now. He risked a glance over his shoulder; the smoke from the church was still visible, even at such a distance. It rose high in the sky for all to see for miles around. Ricky probably liked that. It was a way of showing the world he'd won, caught them all out before they could catch him out. Tinsley spoke his last thought out loud.

"I can't believe he tried to kill me."

Darla replied quietly. "I can."

The silence lingered. "Did everyone know he was going to try and kill me? Did everyone know about all the others?"

Darla shook her head, hitching her skirts up so that she could see where she was placing her steps. "No. But we all had a hunch. Every few years an unlucky wanderer comes into the town and they fall head-over-heels for Ricky and then they fall head-over-heels into an early grave. Well, they'd just disappear, anyway. And they'd never come back."

"Yeah. I saw the graveyard."

"No one goes to the graveyard," said Darla, somewhat grimly. "A lot of familiar faces up there. Mysterious disappearances solved."

"Christ. Even with Lucy?"

"It's never really the Goldsworths. It's the secretaries that choose who has to go and who doesn't. They've always hired private secretaries because the family were rash and emotional and they were going to attract attention from out of town, so they needed a level-headed secretary to keep them rational." Darla stumbled a bit on the uneven ground, but she kept going. "Ricky's different. He chooses when and why he wants someone dead. Holly's spent the last twenty years trying to convince Lucy to be more ruthless. Now she's trying to convince Ricky to be less ruthless, and more importantly, she's failing."

"Ricky doesn't listen to anyone," said Tinsley. "And what's worse now is that he doesn't have to."

They trudged on. The rain was still falling like dust around them, too light to truly be rain; the leaves were dark and green and the birds were singing in the trees. They saw a rabbit or two, poking their fuzzy heads out from the shrubbery. Tinsley glanced at Darla.

"What are you going to do when you get out of here?"

She laughed. "I have no idea. What's the world like outside of this town?"

"There's still Goldsworths," said Tinsley dryly. "But they just wear suits and look neat and call themselves politicians."

"I'm excited," she said, as they wandered to a halt midway up the next slope. "I can't wait to just do normal things. I can't wait to get a car and get a job I like and go- Oh no."

He followed her wide-eyed gaze. His heart stopped in his chest. There was a black shape visible a few slopes back, cresting the top, just visible through the grey curtain of rain. Two black shapes. They were moving fast, the smaller shape ahead of the larger one. Tinsley felt Darla's hand on his wrist, pulling him.

"That's him," he said, breathless already. "That's him. That's- Run, we have to run."

"No." Darla shook her head urgently. "No, he's coming into the rain, he probably can't see us. Hide. Hide, he'll go right past."

"He has his stupid mongrel with him!"

"I can't run," she said, eyes wide in alarm. "I can't run in this dress! In these shoes! He's going to catch me I'm going to die!"

Tinsley looked back at the slopes; he could just about make out the horse now, could just about make out Ricky on its back, black coat fanning with the speed they were going. He could hear barking, muffled through the rain. He could feel the rain, dripping from his hair, from the end of his nose, he could hear it pattering off the leaves. Then he saw the headlights, down the slope towards the sea. They were the only colour in the world.

"Car," he managed to get out between his shaking breaths. "Car. Get down to the road."

* * *

"He's there! He's there, I can see him!" Fran began frantically rolling down her window, keeping her eyes stuck on Ricky flying through the long dark grass up the slope. "Stop here! Stop here, I'm getting out!"

The Mayor hit the brakes, the wheels slid on the road. They let Fran out, and she raced into the trees beside them, going uphill. Holly threw a worried glance after her from the passenger seat. The windscreen wipers were struggling to keep the rain from blurring her vision as she squinted at where they'd seen Darla in her white dress. They assumed Tinsley was with her; it was harder to see him.

"Keep going," she said, hitting at the Mayor's shoulder. "If Tinsley has half the brains he thinks he has, he'll come to us."

* * *

The rain whipped into his face, cold and refreshing. He didn't care that he was soaked through to the skin. All he cared was following the blurred white shape scrambling downhill, and more importantly, the tall shape beside her. Tinsley. He could almost taste him already. Ricky let the horse follow Diablo, who was stretching ahead in long strides, barking and yapping. Ricky stuck closer to the horse, reins curled in his fierce grip. Soon he'd have nothing to worry about in the world. He'd be light as a feather for the rest of his days.

The gunshot baffled him. It didn't baffle his horse. The creature whinnied in pain and collapsed as its legs gave out under it. For a moment, Ricky was weightless. Then he hit the wet grass, tumbling head-over-heels, skidding to a halt a few metres ahead. He gritted his teeth, struggling for air as he stumbled back upright, taking a few attempts to do so. He whipped around from side to side, searching for the assailant. It was just dark green leaves and dark brown woods and a grey rain falling in sweeping curtains. He retrieved the rifle from the horse's reins and continued on. He didn't care who had shot at him. He didn't care if he died. He'd rather die than let Tinsley slip out of his grip.

He slipped down the hill, on a direct trajectory to Darla and Tinsley. He could see them more clearly now; they were closer. He could hear them calling for help. There was just a patch of trees between them and the road and a pair of headlights winding through the rain towards them. Everyone was lying to him. He shouted at Diablo far ahead.

"Go, boy! Fetch!"

* * *

The thunderclouds had turned day to night. He could see Darla far to the right; in her dress she looked like a white marble bust, flying through the black trees. He heard her cry out again, a petrified sound. The barking dog was getting louder. He kept his arms in front of his face, feeling the branches whipping and tearing at him. A stitch was ripping into his side. He couldn’t think of anything but the dog, and its snarling snapping teeth, and how it was getting so close that he could hear it breathing.

_“Tinsleyyyyyy!”_

He picked up the pace, hearing Darla give another whimpered cry. He turned his head, trying to spot her, and his foot missed the ground altogether. He tumbled down the muddy bank into the small stream at the bottom with a loud splash. He tried to curse, and it was then he realized he was crying, his whole body shaking in terror. He scrambled to his feet, running downstream, stumbling to his knees every few steps.

“Oh Tinsley!” Ricky sounded close, his voice breathless. He called his name like a child playing tag with a friend. “Where are you?”

Tinsley fell into an overhang, pressing himself against the mud wall. The tree roots dug into him. He didn’t feel them. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his breaths trembling, eyes spilling tears hot down his cheeks. The silence lingered. He went entirely still. He waited in the quiet, his eyes darting around the trees. He kept his hand clamped over his mouth.

“Tinsley, baby! Come back to me!”

The barking reached him again, and then he saw it out of the corner of his eye. It flew around the corner, drooling, fangs gnashing. Tinsley let out a petrified cry, fingers digging into the riverbed as he crawled out of his hiding spot. Ricky’s words reached him, spearing him with fear.

“There you are!”

The gunshot rang through the air. Tinsley didn't look back, his lungs burning in his chest. He could hear Darla somewhere in the distance, screaming, screaming for help. There was no help. Tinsley let himself fall to the ground as another gunshot pierced the air, loud enough to shatter glass. He kept moving, crawling along the forest floor, sobbing openly. Diablo came in from the left, paws churning dirt.

“Heel! Down, boy!”

Tinsley rolled onto his back, panting for breath, the dog encircling him with vicious snarls. He watched Ricky advancing through the trees, rifle casual in his hand. He was smiling, savage, his eyes a nightmare black. Tinsley went to move, recoiling as the dog snapped at him, drooling swinging from its maw.

“Tinsley. Baby.” Ricky stood over him, gaze unblinking. “You can’t leave me.”

“Ricky please.” He swallowed hard, tasting mud and blood and terror. “Please don’t do this.”

“You were right, you know." Ricky placed the barrel of the gun under the detective’s chin, pushing his head back. He heard Tinsley whimper, saw his eyes squeeze shut. "I don't suffer consequences. I make other people suffer them. Now look me in the eyes before I pull the trigger.”

Tinsley swallowed again, shakily, his body alternating between hot and cold. His eyes narrowed. "I- I hope you fucking die. I hope you die and I hope you suffer when it happens."

"I'm sure I will." Ricky placed both hands on the gun, one under the barrel as he shoved it harder against Tinsley's throat. "But you won't be around to see it."

"They were going to kill you," continued Tinsley, his eyes wild, his breaths jumping. "We were all going to kill you. We were going to poison you and you were going to die in front of the whole town and it would've been exactly what you fucking deserve."

Ricky had gone still, the rain dripping off the end of his nose, off his dark hair. "This whole time."

"This whole time," repeated Tinsley with an unpleasant smile. "This whole time I was going to kill you. I want you to know that. I want you to know that before you pull that trigger and I want you to live with it for the rest of your days."

Ricky gritted his teeth in a snarl, snapping back to reality, grip tightening on the rifle. The anger flared through him, right from the pit of his stomach. His fingers wouldn't move.

"Stop!" Holly stood in the trees a few feet away, her own gun in hand, glinting in the rain. She looked anxious, her skin a waxy pale, her grey hair darkened by the wet. "Stop, Ricky. This is too much. You've gone too far."

Ricky looked at her, a slight frown on his face. "What are you doing here. Go home."

"Come with us," said Holly, nodding behind her at the Mayor, who looked uncharacteristically bedraggled in his suit. "Come home. We'll get you help. You- You need psychiatric care, Ricky. You-"

"I said go home," he repeated icily. He saw Tinsley move a little. He shoved the tip of the rifle harder into his neck, forcing him flat on the ground. "Everything will be fine when I'm done. Go."

Holly swallowed, wiping at her rain-stained glasses with her sleeve. She could barely see. She lifted the gun and took unsteady aim. "I said-"

"Don't think I won't kill you too if you keep this up," spat Ricky. He lifted the gun from Tinsley's throat, placing a foot on his chest instead to keep him down. He gestured vaguely at Holly with the rifle. "Go home and do your job. Both of you."

Tinsley closed his eyes as he let his head rest back against the grass. He was panting for breath, not made much easier with the weight Ricky was pressing down on him. He could feel Diablo's hot breath on his face, rancid. He heard the cracking of a twig, just audible over the sound of rain hitting earth. He opened his eyes, seeing Darla a few feet away, clearly trying to sneak away. Ricky's foot lifted off his chest.

"You lying little-" Ricky clicked his fingers. "Diablo, fetch!"

Tinsley pushed himself to his hands and knees, watching with terrified eyes as the dog bounded after the screaming Darla. It took the end of her dress in its mouth, yanking and worrying at it, its ears swiveling as she screamed. Ricky moved towards her, his anger redirecting. He snapped another order.

"Attack! Diablo, rip her!"

"I'll kill him!"

Ricky whipped his head around, and he didn't even hear himself tell Diablo to heel. He had eyes for Fran only, and the gun she was holding against Tinsley's head. The detective had his eyes closed, his lips pressed in a wobbled line. He was still on his knees in the dirt. Ricky looked at Fran, unblinking.

"What are you doing."

"Let Darla go, or I'll kill him." She let the gun click ominously, holding it against the man's head. "And I will this time. I will."

Ricky pushed the word out through clenched teeth. "Don't."

This seemed to be the reaction Fran had been hoping for. She shared a quick glance with Holly. "Then let her go."

Ricky stared at Tinsley, and his heart stopped in his chest at the thought of him dying right there and then. They weren't done. They weren't done with each other, not yet. "Fine."

Darla looked from Ricky to Fran and back again, her watery eyes hard to tell in the rain. She scrambled to her feet, taking off towards the road like a morbid ghost in her white dress. Fran waited until she was well out of sight before taking the gun from Tinsley's head and racing after her. Ricky didn't even glance at her. He moved towards Tinsley, close enough to be able to tell the tears from the rain. He crouched down in front of him, observing his face with blank eyes. Tinsley's own eyes opened a bare centimetre, watching Ricky sidelong. His shoulders were slumped, his arms limp. Ricky cupped his face with one hand, brushing his thumb across his cheek. Tinsley's nose wrinkled at the touch, his lip curling, but he didn't fight back. He was a dead weight.

"Let's get you home," said Ricky quietly. "I have something I want to do."

* * *

The murmuring crowd parted in front of the ruins of the church as the car crackled across the wet pavement. The Mayor cut the engine, hearing the back door opening, hearing the struggle. He just stared straight ahead, as Holly did beside him. Ricky came into view, crossing in front of the bonnet, dragging Tinsley along behind him with a fist curled in his thick hair. The townsfolk watched in dead silence, the Minister huddled among them. He was still holding the marble top of Fear's cane, the only thing he had left to remind him of what it had been like before.

Ricky dragged Tinsley up the steps by his hair, ignoring his curses as the wet stone scraped his hands. He forced the detective to his knees, wrenching his head back, drawing the dagger from his belt and holding it up. A round of sharp gasps went up, eyes widening, hands going to mouths.

“Do I need to show you what happens when you lie to me?” he shouted, giving Tinsley’s hair a yank to get him to straighten back up. He could hear him panting for breath, each one shaking. “DO I?”

He brought the knife down, pressing its razor edge against Tinsley’s throat, hard enough to draw blood. This time it was cries that went up, hands rising from mouths to eyes. He watched them all, the fear on all their faces. That was better. Fear was good. Fear was necessary. He pushed the blade up, pressing the flat of it under Tinsley’s jaw, using it to force his head back. The detective’s eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth pressed together in a line to try and stop his lip from trembling. Ricky looked back at the crowd, smiling maniacally, but his eyes were dead to anything but anger.

“I know you were all lying to me,” he snarled, hearing Tinsley give a whimper as the knife cut further into him. “Each and every one of you thought you’d get away with it because of this bastard, didn’t you? Well look at him now. Does he look like he’d be able to protect you? Does he?”

He let the message sink in. His grip readjusted on the knife. He looked down at Tinsley's face. He looked back up at the crowd, swallowing hard. He braced himself, his fingers tightening around the slick handle of the blade. His arm was trembling with the stress. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it in the woods, and he couldn't do it now. He could never do it. He'd tried and tried and tried but he just couldn't. He took the blade from Tinsley’s throat, placing a foot against his back and shoving him forwards over the top step. The man tumbled down the stone steps to the ground, landing with a grunt, his face pressed to the cold wet stone. He raised a shaking hand to his throat, feeling the warm blood trickling out of the small cut. He kept his eyes closed, breathing heavily and harshly through his nose. All he could hear was rain pattering against the ground. Then the whimpers reached him.

“No, no, Mr Goldsworth, sir.” The Minister fought feebly as he was hauled up to take Tinsley's place, his face drawn and pale as he was forced to his knees. “Please, please, Mr Goldsworth, I'm begging y-”

Ricky drew the knife across his throat without a second thought. It was so sudden it took the blood a moment to realize it was meant to fall out. The townsfolk screamed as one, earsplitting. The Minister clutched at his neck, the blood welling between his fingers, the tears welling in his eyes. He slumped onto his side. He didn't move again.

Ricky wiped the knife clean on his sleeve, descending the steps towards where Tinsley still lay on the wet concrete. He flicked the blade closed, looking down at the man. His words were numb as he spoke to the Mayor.

“Take him to the manor. He’s not to leave. Not for a long time.”

Tinsley had to be dragged into the manor by the guards. He struggled and shouted and cursed everything to hell and back. Ricky remained in the hallway with a downtrodden Holly, watching the man fight to get at him, his eyes bright with rage.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed, the guards yanking him further down the hall. "I'll kill you! You can't do this! You- Get off me! Get off!"

Tinsley was brought down a short flight of steps. He was shoved into the cellar hard enough to stumble to his hands and knees. He flew back at the door instantly, slamming his fists against it over and over as he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"RICKY! RICKY, YOU BASTARD!" He grabbed hold of the handle, shaking it furiously. The door was a thick wood. It didn't budge. He eventually fell against it, pressing his forehead to it as he sobbed. "Ricky. Ricky please. Don't keep me down here."

There was no response. There probably wasn't even anyone on the other side of the door. Or maybe Ricky himself was there, listening and smiling at the pain in the shouted words. Tinsley sat back against the door, burying his face in his hands. Even when he raised his head from them, the darkness prevailed. There wasn't a light down here, not even a candle. He struggled to his feet, feeling along the walls. They were a damp stone. His fingers eventually brushed wood, dry wood. Barrels. He kept feeling. Bottles. He picked one up; heavy, thick glass. Wine bottles, and they were full. He debated flinging them at the door, but there didn't seem to be a bed around, and he didn't want to have to sleep in shattered glass. If he was going to sleep at all. He pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth, spitting it away. He drank long and hard until he couldn't even walk anymore. He fell asleep on the floor, his face wet with tears. He didn't care whether or not he'd wake up.

Two floors above him Ricky sat on his balcony, slowly smoking a cigarette and enjoying a delectable glass of wine. He'd had a bath and cleaned himself up and felt the most good he'd felt his entire life. He let a hand drift out for Diablo to snuffle at. There was a light knock on the door, a hesitant one.

"Come in."

The Mayor stepped in. He left the door open behind him. "You called for me, sir."

"Mm. I did." Ricky didn't look at him as he spoke. "Did you check on him?"

"He's asleep, sir. It appears he has drank a considerable amount of the wine."

"That's fine." Ricky swallowed another mouthful, legs kicked up on the stone balustrade. "Make sure he's fed and watered, won't you?"

An uncomfortable silence. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you." Ricky turned his head towards him, gaze lowered. "That's all."

The Mayor left. Ricky remained where he was, relaxed, taking a leisurely drag on his cigarette. Everything was fine now. Everything was good. Everything was in tip-top shape. He bit on the cigarette. He could already feel himself growing bored with it all. He tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the floor beside him. He wouldn't be bored for long. He had a new toy to play with, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and of course my lil End of Story song  
> https://youtu.be/3HcESERdGG4
> 
> mm mm m m


	13. Preview - Blood for Life

The light was cold through the window. Days had passed. Weeks. Maybe even months. Damned if he knew. His world was just grey days and black nights and sadness followed him like a fog. He counted the books in the parlour again, tracing a fingertip along them, feeling their rise and fall between spines. Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four. He'd read all of them by now. Most of them. He couldn't read the romance ones. They left a sour taste in his mouth.

There was a faint knock on the door. He faintly invited them in. It didn't matter what he said anymore. His words were wind.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

He let his hand drop back to his side, keeping his back to the door. “I don't know. Coffee, I guess.”

The Mayor pressed his lips in a line. Then he nodded and backed out of the room. He didn't like to see Tinsley anymore. The man was a shell of himself. There was no fire left, no fierce determination. Just passive agreement to every suggestion. A dog in a kennel much too small.

Tinsley leaned against the bookshelves, raising a hand and rubbing at the back of his neck. It was constantly tense nowadays. He was constantly tense in general. He couldn't bear to glimpse himself in mirrors; his eyes had dark circles under them, and his hair had started going grey at his temples. Of course it had. He was stressed beyond belief, even though nothing was happening. Maybe that was why he was stressed.

The Mayor returned with the coffee, placing it on the table. Tinsley thanked him. The Mayor left. Tinsley let the drink go cold.

He eventually moved to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a hearty amount of wine. He lit a cigarette. He wandered and wandered in circles and circles. He was going crazy. He knew he was. He was grinding his teeth day-in day-out, he was dreaming the most unusual dreams. He hadn't stepped foot outside since that day. Since the day it all ended. If only it had ended then. He sat on the couch and buried his face in his hands. He was so terribly tired. He eventually fell asleep on the couch. When he woke up it was the middle of the night. He made his way to his room and got into bed and fell asleep again.

He awoke to a nightmare.

“Morning, baby!”

Ricky pulled open the curtains, skipping from window to window. He was in a good mood today. Tinsley watched him from under the covers, eyes narrowed against the sudden sunlight. They would've been narrowed anyway. Ricky crouched down beside the bed with a smile. He reached out and tapped Tinsley lightly on his pointy nose.

“C'mon. Get up. I thought we could go for a walk.”

Tinsley rolled away, keeping his back to him. There was an unimpressed silence.

“Fine. Be that way.” Ricky straightened up, stretching leisurely. “But you need fresh air. You can't stay cooped up inside all day.”

Tinsley's voice was dry. “Don't act as if you care.”

“Of course I care.” Ricky pouted, crawling onto the bed and draping himself across the man, propping his chin in his hand. “Don't throw a strop, Tinsley. You used to be fun.”

Tinsley didn't bother replying. He just stared at the wall with dead eyes. After a few minutes he heard Ricky tut. The warmth of the man's body was lifted off him. He only spoke when he heard the door handle turn.

“You can’t keep me here forever.” Tinsley stayed glaring at the wall, his fists balled up against the bedsheets. “You can’t.”

“Yes I can.” Ricky spoke over his shoulder as he left. “And no one’s coming to save you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very very short preview but yeah there's a more villainous villain in town babyyyyyy


End file.
